As I was driving home, an opening line to something popped into my head. So I repeated it to myself, trying to make it stick with me so that I could write it down when I got home. Then more followed it. I repeated those over and over to myself. I tried to exploit my voice dial feature (I can call Livejournal hands-free, because I have that set up with voice recognition) but alas, that's one of the numbers that's down. So I just kept on repeating it to myself, over and over. And the lines smoothed themselves out, resolved little snarls, and added more things. They didn't come out in full sentences. I just kept repeating them over and over because otherwise I'd lose them, but if I had the flow of them, I could keep them going.
Eventually, the timed and paced delivery of my voice (it was a poem, of sorts) gave way to song. The tune picked out things that were weak, and showed me where the strengths were. I worked through version after version of minor changes, singing the sad poem out into the cool wet night as I drove for home and paper.
I parked and pulled my journal from my purse, grabbed a pen from the car, and wrote with my door open and the dome light on. It took more paper than I expected. It was such a small thing in my mind when I was singing it. It was compact, there. On paper, it sprawls larger than life. A promise made and broken long ago.