My eyes are closed while I type, as my fingers convey what I am thinking. Looking at the black letters against the bright white light only distracts me from my ability to compose them. To weave the thoughts into words and the words into sentences. The length of the sentences on the screen only pressure me to think faster and more, rather than fluently sewing the patchwork of my thoughts together. Closing my eyes while I type is relaxing as the words are seeping out from my mind, through my body, down my arms and into my hands, into my fingers and pressing the black computer keys by memory. Not seeing the size of the rectangle of words on the screen as they appear seem to help them flow out quicker and with greater ease. My fingers know where to go to print the words out onto the lit up page. Hopefully unjudged they will be read and heard and provoke reaction with out any comparison of me to anyone else on earth. Holding up the apple to the orange. I open my eyes and already there are plenty of lines on the page, and long enough is the rectangle which I have created. I think I will stop and try to rest.
I pull the covers up around my neck and reach my arms down snug up against my warm body. The blankets are shielding me from the cold.