Writing on paper execise

My sweaty palm placed on top of the paper leaves residue behind due to being trapped in an exhausted room all day. Then again I am always boiling, my body temperature being higher than normal most of the time. I hover over like an insecure teacher who constantly paces back and forth from desk to desk to assure herself that her students have done what she has asked. My paper overflows with small water bubbles that merge to create larger droplets on my clean slate. Paper always reminds of an impeccable beginning, something that can’t be smeared. Looking at the paper I see so many possibilities, because any story can be made up. My dreams and hopes can be imprinted for future reference, or just for proof that I existed. All this throbs in my mind until, of course, my hand reaches the paper, smearing the immaculate by pure accident. I hold my writing utensil with much force that it leaves an imprint on my right middle finger. Years of stiff writing have left my fingers looking sore and unfeminine. The creases imprinted on my middle finger support the soft rubber of the ballpoint pen. As I try to write down my thoughts, I repeat the cycle with authentic precision over the first impression left behind by the unmarked page. I repeat four times and see traces of ink slowly forming vanishing dashes before flowing into a smooth straight line. My hand manages to twist in rhythmic waves to transcend my thoughts into words.