One thousand ideas swirling through my brain
Each one unique, completely its own
Starting and stopping
One hundred unfinished poems
Three hundred unfinished stories
Infinity, unstarted
How do I finish something before I’ve begun?
Imagine a way to collect all the pieces
Unrelated descriptions
Of beauty, of pain, of life
Each with a point
Long forgotten, long remembered
Undeveloped potential
In combination, what can it mean?
An experience yet untold waits its turn
Barely contained emotions
Spilled on unseen pages
The simplest joys
Everyday life
Taken apart or taken together, it’s anyone’s guess
Realizations, profound
Must everything I write make logical sense?
I think not.
I can I know 
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