meaningless lines

Saturday, May 27, 2006

words seller

He looked up to the smoke cloud exhaled of his dying cigarette and as if he was reading words written on it, he falls back on the piece of paper in front of him, push away his coffee and throw the words carelessly on its lines. After he finished, he nodded with his head to a man who was waiting anxiously for him. The man ran with his eyes rapidly through the lines and with a satisfied smile on his face, he handed him some money. He counted them with the same careless look on his face and announced with his hand that the man can leave. He was lucky that day, it was one of these days when words jump or fall off the tip of his pen to embrace the lines in warm passion. Not one of the other days when he push his pen to write yet, the pen seems too dry that it scratches the paper beneath it. The pen seems too heavy for him to carry words seems like puzzles that refuse to be solved and the lines refuse to give birth of his thoughts and feelings. One of these days, years ago he believed that his talent dried up and he couldn’t bear to relive this feeling once more, he couldn’t tolerate the abortion of his feelings so he stopped writing. When he missed writing he wasn’t brave enough to carry the burden of his talent, so he started to sell his words, that what he became, a words’ seller.