In a coil-bound notepad I started to write.
A notepad I picked up as a prop for a play.
I needed somewhere, it didn’t need to look nice.
Every fine notebook I bought had me loftily drifting above reality.
This simple collection of lined paper didn’t outwardly inspire wit,
But something of a spell came over me quick.
To approve of the container’d been habit before
But in this notepad I dove to a watery world
Where ideas were substance
Imagined lands free to roam
And the freshness of my thoughts held new halls and new tomes
It felt necessary to record each odd poem and fragmented score
And once they’d been transposed, composed, I had 100 more
Safely stowed in an unassuming home
That no one would prize but myself, alone.
That coil-bound notepad looks mundane and stale,
But beneath the factory cover my world is unveiled
To me, it’s a romantic treasure I’ll savor
There’s no need for ornate leather or perfectly polished paper.
All I require is a place I can trust.
From there, it’s just time.
By Sarah C Louise.
Sarah C Louise 