I’ve told many stories over the years, some good, some bad, others incomplete- those are my specialty. The incomplete love story, the incomplete mystery (though that one may be better that way), the incomplete memory, thought, dream, future… Blank pages beckon until I come a little closer and realize how they mock and decry my incomplete nature.
I have an unhealthy relationship with journal books. Maybe it’s due to the need to leave my mark upon the world, but I’ve found it betrays that same incompleteness. I’ll write out excuses for myself with pretty inks, words, whorls, and flourishes, but they are still merely excuses… fancy dressings to hide the incompleteness in a myriad of beautiful nonsense. Looks are certainly deceptive here! A gleam of gold, a splatter of ink, and a white grip claiming intense control…
Prompt: Write from the perspective of an inanimate object. (Pulled from “101 Writing Prompts” by Jenn Maxwell)
