It’s bloody past four in the morning. I have not slept a wink & nor will my mind allow it. Past four, & I am here cooking with purple Peruvian potatoes – tell me, who in the world does that? They’re still roasting lovely on the stove. In my defense, I’m taking a breather from ongoing strings of black sentences & white spaces. Well, sort of considering that my fingers are tapping out these black & white notes.
I leave my candle lit cavern of a desk to briefly continue the cooking going on in the kitchen, & stand in front of the stove accompanied by all the sizzling. All the sizzling & just my thoughts alone. All night I haven’t uttered a word (all day, actually, now that I think of it), nor have I turned on any composed music when I normally do. Honestly, the still music of silence along with rhythmic keys tapping were music enough. Once in awhile, I would hear the candle flames crackle & the air conditioner whir. All of that coincided with the not so quiet whispers of my thoughts – perhaps I couldn’t take any more noise.