My hands travel across familiar keys and my mind sinks into this familiar page as it sings apologies to the non-existent spirit that lives in its backdrop and in each letter and each pixel. It stays still, unresponsive but I know it will accept this gift of words, my offering, my plea for forgiveness. Still, I feel the flush fingers of guilt creeping up my back to circle my neck and force penance for my neglect.
But they ask no reason. They pray no explanation for the absence of my phrases.
I beg and crawl and beseech them to let me tell all, to let me draw the map causes and consequences. But they are not open to my voice.
Instead, they tap their nails on my skin and they wait for their message to sink in.
But they ask no reason. They pray no explanation for the absence of my phrases.
I beg and crawl and beseech them to let me tell all, to let me draw the map causes and consequences. But they are not open to my voice.
Instead, they tap their nails on my skin and they wait for their message to sink in.
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