Her Story

Each day an animate page,
Resonate, resilient parchment, weathered
With tattered and dog-eared corners,
Folds of wishes and wrinkles of forgotten time,
All surreptitiously surrounded by a rigid spine, tightly bound,
And a pleasing-at-a-glance cover applied

Her story penned, deliberately,
Quill dipped in an optimistic inkwell of dreams,
A girl with hope too big for her heart,
Yet caged, in steely, cold bars of fear,
Days of lamented lines and years of penitent paragraphs,
Raging run-ons, not separate, but not yet whole

Until, with a patient, loving grip
He cracked wide open her spine,
Running careful fingers over her textured tagmemics
Marked with scars of overuse
And dozens upon dozens of mistakes,
Because she refused to use auto-correct

And in strong, steadfast strokes,
He inscribed with intentional ink,
In studied as well as silly scribbles,
In deliberate and desirous doodles,
He filled her stark white margins,
Enclosing each stretched syllable and every wearisome word in safety

With no bitterness or resentment,
He read between each carefully constructed line,
Assiduously added enamored notes and ardent annotations,
Careted carefree interjections into her cautious construct,
And allowing her to fuse every fickle fragment with his guidance,
He completed her

One thought on “Her Story

  1. Beautiful the journey to wholeness! Because she refused to use auto-correct” is the reason I sought to find you. I needed a world without white-out. Love you, Sis.

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