nothing more

"often, i write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all i can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen and then, i fall asleep. dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water and i wake the next day remembering nothing and i gather the stack of paper and a pen of black on the desk in front of me and the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake and the words in white whisper behind and underneath the new day. if there is any secret to this life i live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. and there is nothing more to it than that."
- story people