The Novel Comes At Dawn
...and evades the night. it wears a shiny coat and is ready to run. It likes history and thrives on coincidences. When the tips of my fingers meet the keys, its pages are born, born, born. Some days it gives me a stomach ache. Other days, it makes me excited. Little shivers of shock ripple through me. It is my personal electric eel. it is my taser. My vibrato song.
The novel wants to be. It asks me to get moving. Its characters make me lonely.
I can't believe its future is in my hands alone.