I have looked around from time to time
for the characters of my stories
when I was younger I would never write into journals
loose leaf sheets of paper
napkins, placemats, print outs, pages of another's book
I close my eyes searching the archive, secreted away
dossiers filled with nothing, some with photos and others detailed histories
Looking around this place
i wade through crumpled pages at least a foot deep
reaching for them every now and again
they are always just beyond my grasp
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