It had stopped somewhere between the years,months,hours,seconds,minutes. This was a long gap,I had not inked myself.
I was blank.Some very silent creek has seeped.Sun has blinked.I have tugged at my ribs to pester them and infuse them my soft will.A loving canvas has presented its edges.
I am dusted and cleaned back today, I can write myself back today.So that imagination can lure me to its lands-I just lend it my hand.
Whatever that is; bringing me back.
What that is-bringing me back?