All Heaven and Earth
Flowered white obliterate…
We live and breathe words. …. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt–I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted–and then I realized that truly I just wanted you.
*from the book, Clockwork Prince
It’s a wet and windy evening as I write this post.
My favorite type of writing weather.
The room I am sitting in is dark and cool.
A train goes by, hauling the vibrance of the lashing rain with it.
Inside, the bedroom curtains billow and sway, playing a type of footsie with the dank breeze.
MiQuita saunters over to curl up near my woolly socked toes.
The scene is near perfect, but for my cheezie stained fingers leaving their greasy imprint on my laptop keyboard.
I get up to wash my hands and return to my desk - ready for rewrites
…but no great spark of inspiration comes.
I bend down and give MiQuita her favorite, an earlobe massage.
She pushes my hand back with her little grey paw and sighs.
I look out the window, the wind seems to have picked up.
I wonder about the meaning of life.
The phone rings.
But there is no one there.
I give some thought to jelly beans.
Outside, the rain still falls.
I sit upright and face the taunts of my laptop screen.
Words are waiting to be written.
Slowly, I begin to type.