And scribbled lines like fallen hopes
On backs of tattered envelopes
Francis Hope
The pen flows effortlessly over paper, an idle thought, a line in time, a beat of life, a bird in flight, the awakening dream. Bang! Your attention’s caught again, the note’s discarded, back to work, no time for gathering wool, for dawdling, for doodling.
“I’m not creative, can’t draw, can’t paint, can’t write…” Yet blank paper is consumed when attention fades and pen’s in reach.
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Technobility 