Friday, September 6, 2013


her head, she thought, had always been full of ideas,
just the way a lightbulb
might be filled with light.
it had always been that way, she thought,
and sometimes a something good might come out, onto the paper.
but it didn’t usually, 
and when it did, 
it was good,
nearly too good. 
they stared and oohed and aahed-
but no, she thought, 
they didn’t really get it,
but then, neither did she, only knew that it was 
something
big and peculiar 
and that it would always be there,
like a memory, or a photograph.
and sometimes it would work,
the thing,
and gears would spin and locks would click-
and when the words stopped coming,
she told them,
she read to them, 
and they would say,
oh, it’s so good!
but then she realized-
didn’t they know she wanted it to be more than good?
couldn’t they tell?
but she also realized
that the words would never stop coming,
so she came to a conclusion-
the words were all she had.

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