For instance, I cannot bring myself to write, when beginning, on the other side of the paper first. This is normal, this is the way it’s always been, it’s been a question for all time. At least it’s been that way for all of my time.
You buy a book of empty pages, lined preferably, get out your pens – by the way, what have you got to do with this? This is my heart, is this my clumsy way of inviting you in? But what if you’re disinterested? What if you’ve been bullied all your life to do with others would have you do? You’re reaching out for a lighter, you’ve clicked it into its full flame, and they’re bringing the bottom right corner to the flame and two things happen, You realize you might start your house on fire running to silence the smoke alarm after dropping the burning page on your wife’s favourite tablecloth and finery, so you pause, and it’s then that you hear me ask the question, “but why the bottom right corner of the page?“
The tear begins to tumble down your cheek and a tiny little spider, from the flowers you bought for your wife for your wedding anniversary, you seen crawling down the page, and your little chin rumbles as you realize it’s little life that would have
Running Down Vimy 