On the heart of my parchment, an ink blot drops from the point of my pen and just before sinking and spreading into the off-white wheat-colored paper it reflects the image of my room, but really just the bed behind me, which glows for a moment in the orb of ink like a cozy chrome shadow of soot in the cold void of space. Then the ink is absorbed in a briny swell, spreading out with tiny little veins or arms I’m not sure that reach out into the surrounding paper ocean. A draft from my open window blows through the room towards my desk and my parchment gives a shudder and flutters an inch across my desk before I stop it with a hammered-down hand.