I rushed up the stairs with an idea in my head.

“Better write this down,” said I.

“No, no, no,” do it in the morning, said me.

“But then I’ll forget it, as usual,” said I.

“But you’re tired. Do it later.” It’s true. I was tired. I am.

“I think I have to start writing these things when they come into my head,” I replied. To myself. “Because I always forget them and then they disappear.”

This wasn’t the thing that I wanted to write down. This thing, here. I’m not really sure what it was, actually. Because there were the stairs, and the letter box, and the birthday card, and the sound of the keys jangling loosely in the door and falling into a neat pile in the bowl on the side table. And so another little idea retreated back under the surface, leaving just a little ripple.

I don’t know how to catch them. I need a net, or something.