"It's who, not what," he finally said after a long pause. "I write about someone."
"Is that so?" I asked. For the longest time in my life, he always left me there. In the middle. In the middle of helpless pondering. In the middle of hopeful and absurd. In the middle of my treacherous thoughts that might someday be the cause of my death. He left me hanging and lost, right in the middle of nowhere.
"Yes, it is that so. In exchange, would she mind reading for me, though? Every single night?"
"Oh, she wouldn't mind. Not at all." But as I turned to look at him, I knew he was caught in there too. Somewhere in the middle.
"Well then, it's a long reading night for the both of us."
And in the middle of the nowhere, - in the middle of getting lost - I finally found myself. And it's with him.
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
