Patterns

It cannot be controlled, this sprawling pattern of curves and spirals, of arching curls and winding roots, flowers entangled in its branches. It stretches, over pages, growing larger with every new twisting branch. It flows from my pen: wild, free, beautiful. I'm not sure where they come from. I've been drawing them since forever, always inking them in corners and along edges, letting them bloom and blossom on the paper grass. I'm not sure how it began. But drawing them comforts me, their shapes kind and familiar. I don't want to stop drawing them. I don't want them to end.