Pen glides across paper, silently. Simple meeting notes are an act of pleasure. No resistance to ideas; paper begging me for more, more.
What do I write?
What is worthy of this paper?
Gel ink glistens on the page. The page is waiting, wanting more.
A fury of writing. Paper absorbing words, a glistening trail of thought left behind as ideas move forward, a mind empties onto the paper.
Oh, the paper.
Then, like an impatient lover, I must wait for the ink to dry. Eager for the next page, ideas flowing forward, tide unstoppable.
All for this paper, this sensual paper.