The words flowed out of me, from my thoughts , through my arm, to my fingertips, through the sharpened point of my pencil onto the thin piece of paper on my desk.Words from my own mind. Beautiful words, molded and shaped to perfection before put down on the page.
        Turn.
        Another blank page to fill with my innermost thoughts. More and more thoughts until my pencil is racing across the paper.I can't hear the wind outside my window  or even feel the gum in my mouth.
        Turn.
        All that matters is the pencil in my hand and the paper in front of me. All that matters is getting everything out of me before the words and sentences are lost in my mind forever.
        Turn.
        Done.
        Suddenly it is all gone from my mind .Leaving me empty but content. A perfect paradox.