Something Pithy

When I set out to write it is endless.

Pages and pages of frantic handwriting,

letters losing their form;

a desperate scrawl.

Like I can’t get it out fast enough.

like there could never be enough words,

like I’d have to write forever.

My hand hurts,

as if close contact with the memory burns.

Eventually, though, I distil the deluge down

to something pithy

within your attention span.

All I want in in this world,

is to make you understand