Friday, 19 September 2008


"How did you write this?" 

His question surprised her so much that it took long freeze frame moments for her to respond. She felt dry lipped and caught in a vast clear space between blinking                                   and blinking again. The silence waited, patient as an old faded clock. 

When the words came, she listened with interest to what her mouth had to say. She trusted it's threaded connection to her heart, but sometimes it's plain honesty arose from somewhere more passionate and primal. Her guts fed rich food for thought that upset the neat plans she had laid out in the closet of her sighing ribcage. 

It sounded flippant and it might have insulted him, but she said, simply, "I picked up a pen and I started to write."