Writers Jam

Beneath my skin are the blueprints of yesterday- blueprints that I hold onto like a mother holding her child in a crowded space, secure yet gentle.

The blueprints do not let me sleep. I wish to toss the blue paper into a fire and burn it pure with my tears, for my love for him is as pure as fire, breathe in the smoke, and hold onto what’s left- the ashes. They represent a ritualistic sacrifice of my blueprints. The ashes scatter all over my body, and I’m a madman holding onto what’s left.

How could I not get lost in that? For the blueprints laid out my life-all of it-erased and rewritten over and over with different outcomes.

What if I never experience the making of a blueprint again? What if I sleep and never wake up? Or… is that why people forget about their blueprints and sleep-to get a sense of death?

But I’m not keen on waking up, for I’ve become addicted to the glimpses of death. What would you do with your blueprints? Would you burn them away and start all over? Or would you lie down on the ashes and let your tears absorb them?