She wrote because she had so much to say and didn't have the opportunity to say any of it. She was too reserved and her heart was molten gold disguised as stone, so she wrote and hid behind a pseudonym and never let those she wrote about read her poems.
Built around her were walls that prevented other people from coming in and kept her from venturing out. She wrote sideways so that only she would be able to read the sentences etched into the walls encasing her in her lonely little trench. Occasionally, she would see someone from outside through a small window and she would long to reach out and drag them inside to read the words scratched into the walls.
There was some stupid part of her—some ridiculous hope harboured inside her—that thought that maybe, just maybe, if she put enough thought into the words she was writing, someone might one day read them and understand.
YOU ARE READING
Scintillation ✓
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry and prose about stars, love and the like. It is a glimpse inside my mind and a full view of my soul. My thoughts are like celestial dust: quite useless on their own, but once they come together, create a star that give...
