DESK-RIPTION

I will always remember.

I remember the nights and I remember the days.
The sun bloomed bright, beaming down its rays.

I can still smell the fresh smell of rain.

I remember the leaves ruffling against me, whispering the wind’s cry.
It was beautiful; our little neighborhood surrounded by trees so high.

They came. A roar tore us down.
The pain.
We were instantly separated,
separated from each other,
alienated from life.

Our souls are kept in different shapes. They gave me four legs and flattened out my surface, saturating me into a square. It didn’t hurt too much as they touched me with a smooth layer of their world, dressing me with fine patterns. It’s cozy.     

Sometimes, I hear scribbles. It reminds me of Old woodpecker.

I sense the bleeding hearts.
It’s the best part of their art.
The thirst to learn quenches itself with the scribbles. I can feel it, the complex being. It’s nothing like the animals back home.
The birds and the squirrels, always up to something, planning plots.
Here, I feel concentration. The course of an impulsive force. Attention. Thoughts.  

Elation surrounds me.
At times, I feel frustration around me.
I can’t converse with them, but I sense their movement and I feel their sentiments persistent around me.
Scribble. Squiggle. Doodle. Dot.       

There are others here and there. Brothers, Squares and Spheres.
We can’t see each other but we talk amongst each other.
Sometimes, we just silently listen to our creator.
They call us desks. I hope I’m a good “desk”. One day, I hope to meet with them.
I have questions, so do the rest. They’re different. I’ll learn their language of pen.