Paper is not Edible
Looking at the sky thoughts fill my head. A thousand whispers of a thousand stories. I want to express them but I can't. There isn't enough paper in the world. Or trees. And so I must write. Write what I can. When I can and where I can. Thoughts are not solid and don't appear long. But why? Because thoughts are too fast. Life and its traffics trample them before they grow. Killed before birth. Dead before there was chance. And so were they. Not even a second. Birthed in confined spaces, as unwanted as month-old avocado. And so poverty clutched them. 'Till the end. The cruel pains of starvation. And so, as the thoughts fill my head, they die. Tales of them. Their stories crying to be brought into light. I can't save them, it's all thoughts in my head. Not that they aren't real, it's that my simple page of text cannot in all reality feed a person. Paper is not edible. And neither are emotions. Action is the first step towards resolution and there being less stories to tell. So go ahead, forget this piece of prose. Don't forget the children.
