Dear Someone

Written from 9-3-11 to 11-14-11

She walks into the wood-paneled room and goes to sit in the rocking chair by the window. Shades are tattered, knitted blanket upon her lap. The window open with the shades drawn back, with the warmth of the sun peering in just as it disappears over the horizon. Looking into the the purple and orange sky, she lights a candle and reaches for a pen a her journal from an old wooden side table. She opens the cover, writes "52" in the corner of the page, and begins to write:

"Oh, how my words and love can fall so easily

on to the pages of this book, but I become mute

as soon as you say hi. How I want to let my heart

pour into your hands and my emotions be held in

your palms. But, even so, would you care to take

my hand, my life, me, on this ride, into the field of

wheat? The wheat and grasses that grow so tall

sway so graceful in the wind? How I wish my

vocal chords would strum in tune and play such

sweet melodies when you were around. The stopping

emotion of shyness and slight fear has prevented sweet

music and replaces it with sharp glass stabbing the eardrum.

If you are to see this before I leave, please stop me if your

heart leaps, and flee me if not so. I will wait the dreaded 7-day

toll for your response. Farewell."

She then gets up from her chair and closes the window. Blowing out the candle, which has melted about half way down, she walks over to her bed and lays down. Closing her eyes, she thinks to herself, "He will never see those notes". She then drifts into a deep sleep until the sun rises again.