fresh coffe and danish

My roving wandering mind wafted me to a world of obscurity darkness.

Like printed black ink on a piece of blank white paper
Overtime, despite storing it, hiding it in a tightly sealed box,
the words
slowly clandestinely fade away.
It grows paler, fainter and it will eventually die away.
What is left is what you have, what you are in the beginning.
The beginning where no inks are smeared on it
No colours but no dirts as well.
A blank paper, so wholesomely untainted.
A blank paper that once again
desperately wants to be wanted
long to be needed.

When you really think harder,
You'll see what can possibly be printed onto it.
The trees, the road, the huts or maybe the runway.
and when you think once again, twice harder,
you might ask yourself
Why not try out my favourite colour like shades of red white or blue?

I don’t want to be a blank white paper
with nothing to my name.
no memories, good and bad.
No recollections to fall back on.

I'll rather be stained with black patch at one small corner or edge
When it is time to cut away
I'll move on with no regrets.


Maltida

ps: if you ever do understand, you must be as weird as me.