dear papers

imagine a world map, if you can. and if you did, please also try to picture this table whereon i work as a continent - a mass of land that floats in the middle of the pacific blue. then you can see also mountains and hills of papers that have been piled over a week.

these are the many pages of concern sent from many corners of the world that end on my desk. waiting for my touch.

and between those hills and highlands, jungles of newspapers are also there. leaving a small space for a glass full of water i consider as a spring.

well, i know that eventually i have to read them. every a b c of it all.

but dear papers, why are you so many? have you no other place to reside?

"hey that's no way to say goodbye..."