Where do the words go
when they slip through the cracks
of my mental filing cabinet?
And where is recognition
when they reappear
no longer categorized
or referenced –
out of alphabetical order –
not even an inkling of recall
as if our acquaintance is
akin to discovery?

(The Daily Prompt is inkling.)


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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