There is no appropriate way to start this paragraph.
So don’t expect a beginning;
that’s asking too much.
I can’t move my hands fast enough to beat out a riveting entry to this passage.
…At least not fast enough to catch up with the pitterpatter of the clock in my chest.
I
can’t keep up with the middle of the story;
so don’t expect a plot.
My fingers don’t move in complicated circles,
so they can’t explain character.
And
they don’t move so well under pressure
(they
cramp
up)
so I can’t show you conflict.
My fingers are clumsy,
they tap over the
wrobng kteys,
so you wont understand resolution.

My fingers
(even though they don’t
work
so
well)
understand theme.
They can tap-tap-tap away about a few things; ice skates, Bosnia, and you.


And I adore you.

And that is all my fingers have to spit out.