Draft: For the Sake of the Sender

the sheets are blank, rumpled, crumpled as is my mind ink blotted, refusing to write because it makes it real but the fingers tap, the neurons click so much wanting to be written in that notebook all stored in crevices of the mind, in chambers of the heart refusing to be written saying it loud, so loud that no one hears an ear pitched sound that only caves echo in time, maybe since this is for the sake of the sender maybe one day it shall finally be written * inspired by Alex Woodard