The best page is the one that wants to take your words and love them. Cradle them in its expansive white arms and say, yes dear words, you're the little screaming infant voices I've been waiting for. You want the page to love and affirm you. Give you that positive reinforcement every baby or writer-baby seeks from the page, the mother, the other.
I am writing. Pishu, j'ecris, escribo...and while I don't have much time to deliver these fetal first steps into thesis-writing, I can hear the little voices inching out, they are happening. They have wanted to happen and breathe life and make what I went through worthwhile, ever since I went through it. I mean who donates all this time, researching and working alone, and feeling lonely and inspired and anxious and isolated and terrified and thrilled to not finally hope to bear fruit.
The pregnant nun goes on giving birth through her fingertips.
What if you are just a figment of me on the page? Mary asked Jesus.
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