I had wanted a pen
And something lined to scribble on
I had felt my fingers reach out for a book
My aching head and nervous chattering teeth wanted something hard
To hold onto
I had needed a way to escape my thoughts
To write it all down, then screw it all up
Then, to make an ark in the air with my screwed-up paper ball, as it traced a line into the bin
But, something inside me stopped me
I thought to myself, why?
Why should I need a paper and pen
When all my worries can belong to you?
So now, instead I am not worrying, but pondering about a wonderful listener
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.