Silvery lines streak across the pages. Dancing intimately with thoughts that flow through these fingertips. Explain how it can be made possible by the imagery in the mind of thoughtlessness. Words flow though have no source. The feeling is there. It flows around inside this skin. I close my eyes and my fingers float, my eyes reach for those distance words that elude even the greatest detective within my soul. It is not me, I swear, a manifestation made by my second thought, but definitely not my first. The first needs time to think, while the second only jumps into this exotic dance of paper and pen. Hurry before it leaves. That is all this mind thinks of when my hand begins to move. Pulsing through, the words leap out onto the paper jumping this way and that so that they are barely legible.