If I Could Write for a Million Years
If I could write for a million years.
Would I write big or small?
Would I take breaks?
Maybe a hundred year break here and there.
To gather new utensils.
To replenish my ideas.
Eventually, watching the sun burn out.
My friends and family would be memories.
There would be no more crossroads.
Or conflict.
Or love.
Just stars.
Watching the comets pass.
And writing about the sounds they make.
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