i scribble on the pages of an old notebook, hoping to set free the endovolate* truths suppressed in me.
i watch the ink smear through the ivory pages no longer blank, making its marks, and meandering its way to the same rhythm my heart beats to.
as i grip a tool so powerful, i begin to feel free from the numbness that covers the tips of my fingers.
i begin to let go.
i begin to simply be.
the freedom that ink and paper gives.
* endevolada is a term that suggests dark, veiled depths coined by fernando pessoa, portuguese poet, writer, and philosopher