day 250

Dear Paper,

as we run our fingers on the edges of your body, the fine cuts leave an impression on us, teaching how it feels to hurt so subtly that pain is not a suffering
but a fine line and wrinkle that can be healed (incompletely). did the blood taint your rough white skin? we twirl and print our now blood lines and form little
unknown
shapes

and we know that in time, the small cut will close and the blood will dry but you will no longer be the same white paper. But you lacked colour prior to our meeting.

White is such a tempting colour
and yet so frigid that you

repel us, unresponsive and those unimaginative us would cer
tainly ru
n away th an to wr ite a ter rible word or sh ape on you. And yet , we constan tly rape yo u.

No whi te i s pu r e w hi te. J
ust as no pap e r is flat, wit ho ut c r a c k s a n

d c r e v i c e s. You ab sorb u s. Y ou can n ot r esist if w e were to be cou r
ageo u s to w r it e .


s o we fol d
you u p and you kept very quiet and we shall send you to somewhere far away. That perhaps, it is not that the words really matter. But that simple gesture of remembering someone far, that makes

blood and paper
so precious to us all.

Yours,
Ink.