There is no end this old blue paper. It’s slightly yellowed. I’ve been pulling this out of my desk drawer since I was 15 or before to write random things—things too serious for other paper, or things that can’t stay in a notebook. Strange to have come over and over to this same desk. It is to know what is to come from a place. This may not be an English manor house or something grand, but here a desk inherited is a desk lodged in your life forever, unquestioned. Same desk, same paper, same room, same tree outside the window. 

It goes on to infinity. This must have been the paper my dad wrote to my mom on when he was away at college. I know no one understand this but I have been pulling it out forever, it is always there … blue paper.