Papyrus

Prose dedicated to pages everywhere.

As thin to drift in air it is weightless now. Prior to, written in stone.

Stone withstands and becomes stronger with heat. Leaflets and sheets vanish in heat, are malleable to crumple and mistaken for trash if not typefaced.

Writing in stone takes time. Letters etched with metal objects that were born in fire and molded to facilitate communication through script but with pictures first.

Symbols came to replace the oral histories and stories of the ancients.

Stone stories preserved, paper ones too.

Now? Intangible locationless space ridden words floating with no owner except if linked. And if not, a chance for anonymity and communication blogreaderworthy. But then, where are you when I need you? Oh, that's right.... Google Search.

Are we losing our grip on script or tangibility? Is holding more important than pressing send? Is publishing worth more when your text reaches a library and reaches me by chance? Or is your reaching me now heightening my need for you and your need to be recognized?

Last days of challenging have given way to inspired prose dedicated to the pages that remain unread of mine, unheard of advice, and still not published.

Finish line in sight. Keep running, keep writing, etch it into stone. All the while, remaining protected from the elements and forever ingrained in hearts, no matter the time -past or future- just presently scribed.

Paz.