Sometimes, they’re just scribbles.
Sometimes, they show the fragile mess of a restless mind.
Sometimes, they’re just thoughts that happen to land on a piece of paper.
Sometimes, they try to tell a story.
Sometimes, they hold fears I’d rather not say out loud.
And always, it starts with a random scribble—
some messy lines that somehow
calm the noise in my head.
Somewhere between those lines,
the scribbles start to make sense,
and I can breathe again.
This piece is written in response to the two hundredth and fifty fourth edition of Fiction Monday inspired by the word prompt – SCRIBBLE hosted by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
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Beyond Scribbles 
I don’t write out my thoughts like you, Corinne and others do very often. But as you said, writing out does make us calm. I know what you mean when you say ‘start to make sense’ – after all they come from the depth of our mind and heart!
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