With The Date

A blank page--
Only blue lines and margins--
It sits beside me, waiting to be touched--
-to be acknowledged
-to be looked at
-to be written on
-to be used
It lays near me, entwined with wire to many of its kind, and covered by cardboard.

The page has little written on it.
The date--
My name--

I twiddle the pen between my fingers,
Waiting for an idea--
Waiting--
Waiting--
Waiting--
I doodle a stick figure couple and encase them in a heart.
Still--
Waiting--
The doodles continue.

The pen runs out of ink and simply scratches at the paper.
So I tap the paper
Tap--
Tap--
Tap--
--
Tappity, tappity--
Tap--
Tap--
--
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tappa, tap-- tap-- tap.

The pen flies across the room.
It remains on the floor.
The paper is now covered--
With spirals--
With stories--
With creases--
With lines--
With my name--
With the date--