Another old one. I promise I'll get around to writing something new eventually!
Lachlan Marnoch, 2010
The felt tip of the pen presses softly into the pristine page, an irregular oval of ink instantly leaking outwards. The blot spreads rapidly at first, slowing as it expands, consuming more and more white paper. Turning it blue.
The same deep blue of those late-night brainstorms, when you were struggling with ideas that had not yet emerged from their pupal cocoons. When you began the inkblots to pass the time it took for your creations to dry their wings and take flight.
The flow of ink evokes memories of a time when the blots never seemed to develop fast enough, never seemed to match the initial excitement of the first few seconds of the blue oval’s life. But still you tempted patience, holding out just a little longer to see how far you could get it to grow.
As you stare at the ink, you remember writing and drawing in that little hard-bound journal, the ideas which seemed so grand and exhilarating at the time.
They just seem childish now, like the excitement of watching an inkblot spread.