The Inkwell

You suck me up into your inkwell.
You start writing...
and writing...
and writing...

and I can't see.

and I can't see what you are writing.

and I am too close. I am it.

Oh, I can see what you have written.

I can see all the way back to the beginning

Where the ink is dry, browned and dulled by time and handling;
by going over the story again and again.

You suck me up into your inkwell
and all I can do is flow onto the page.

Lucky to know what is happening.

Lucky to get even a simple glimpse of what I am up for as I am pushed onto the page.

I want to know. I want to know the next moment and the next one and the next.

Alas, you leave me to find out for myself as I go along...running back to the inkwell
for you again and again.