My writing has missed the bus. Words, like the end of a rainbow are impossible to find.
I chase red orange yellow and green but they blur into blue indigo and violet. A sentence is the undiscovered pot of gold.
Keyboard tapping causes nausea then cotton wool fireworks explode in my head before salty rain streaks down my face – another seizure.
I call out to Mr H,
What’s the word for a group of sentences?
I slap my forehead.
I write to keep my grey matter alight, but at the moment the brightness has turned to mist where words get lost or alter their shape as they emerge. Cups are cakes, shoes become slippers, knives are kettles and sentences are a jigsaw with missing pieces. A thought in the kitchen slips away before I reach the next room.
As I walk in search of a cluster of words, sentences part to let me through. I hunt for a paragraph until the sun disappears. I sleep under a window and dream of floating pages trapped in my minds web.
Morning and evening I gulp down the extra pink and white mind blurring thieves. Hopefully once the changeover is complete the rainbow's end will be mine.
|A Caribbean Rainbow I captured in 2012|
Technorati TagsCreative-Writing, Epilepsy