All the writers rush towards me

Tall ones

grey ones

sad ones

happy ones,

desperate and childlike ones.

I need a hug, one tells me.

I hug one,

I hug them all

I surrender, the tall one says, I surrender to the river, the stream and the wind wherever it blows.

My pain, my pain, my pain in my pen, the sad one cries,

my pen, my pen, my pen in my pain.

The grey one evokes time under her breath, the waiting will kill you, she mutters, it will

In the clamor I faintly hear the far one say,

I just want