Her language was all smiles
words were other people's sound.
But she ached for the untouchable,
the intangible; just a taste of voice,
the flavour of her own words.
It started seed small
down in the deep dark,
a glowing tangle of ink
Her speechless song began to unfurl,
stretching out its tendrils,
feeling her out and making its mark.
Like roots to water, it honed in,
twisting and twirling,
it danced its way up through her dark
It reached out to her every cell
and made her blood sing;
a chorus of white ink
Then who she really was burst from her.
An explosion of white ripped from her throat
like a butterfly from a cocoon
The words poured through her
they flowed from her fingertips
and on to the dark page.
Her white ink splattered the parchment,
flecking it with stars
as her voice spilled out.
She stood by the water. Alone, the moon shone down and painted itself onto the ripples of the lake that almost touched her bare toes. The water knew to let her alone tonight. It had memory. And recalled the words that had been spat between them; although, the wind was not so considerate. Its breeze pulled strands of her hair free from their confines atop her brunette head and whistled through the fir trees around the lake without a second thought. She stared out over the water, unseeing and oblivious, as the moon sketched its portrait out across the lake. And she barely registered the gentle tug of the wind.
She sighed. Then removed the thin shawl from her shoulders and let it fall to the sand. This time she watched as a tassel on her shawl soaked up the fresh water and became a deeper shade of red that could have blood in the water. She tipped her head...
It had been so long since the
last time and a world away,
with only faint memories
and smell of sun-cream as a
Yet, like old friends so welcome,
familiar and at ease.
Embraced with cold waves but the
warmest of hello's, that leave
traces on salty skin and
dripping hair, down shoulders and
over knees to sandy toes.