Chapter 1

It begins differently each time

I begin to write it.

Sometimes profound, mostly ridiculous,

Almost always bleak.

The words take a life of their own,

and become something else.

And so I never really let them live,

Afraid of how plain and uninspiring they must be,

Then today I thought,

Why should they be anything more?

If they fill the void in my heart,

should that not be everything ?

Rubbish as they might be,

Strange as they might sound.

I will not be afraid of my voice

that lie on crumpled scraps of paper in the bin.