Easy

The crumbs are hardening on the plate. I’m actually watching the moist smears harden.

The wine has warmed. I’d pour more, but I’ve made enough of a stain on the table already.

The paper lays pristine, flat, and unblemished. It is surrounded by a multitude of crumpled paper balls that I am too upset to even attempt to throw away.

The broken pencil pieces are scattered, somewhere, over there. The pen I chose to use in its stead mocks me. The ink flowing so freely while I struggle to even think of what language is.

Fuck. It’s just an afternoon dalliance. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard! Why is this so hard?

~snap~

Oh hell.

At least the ink compliments the wine.

Inspired by, and written (agonizingly) for Sunday Scribbles #285: Easy