The Sound and Rythem of Words

I’m sitting in my room. Rickety, rake, rock. The chair creeks as I rustle in the seat. The clock tocks and I feel as if time just might stop. Looking around I see everything
: clutter and junk. Crinkle, crack. Papers fly around like birds in the sky. Drip and drop, thoughts pour out onto the scrambling pages like tea from a teapot. The letters rearrange themselves into beautiful, blooming words. Concentrating becomes harder as I hear the woofs and meows coming from the lively animals at my feet. You could never imagine how much animals can really speak. Looking for inspiration, I become easily distracted. Looking at any little thing, I have the biggest reactions. Managing time is not such a great talent of mine; I’m trying very hard to keep my thoughts under control. A candle’s fumes crawl across the room, and I realize that I must resume. My hand begins moving once again, I know that I must make these words my friends.





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