June 3, 2006

i am the door

She woke up that morning just as her voice was putting on its scarf and heading out the door. She tried to protest, but no words would come. She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her voice’s sleeve, but her voice just frowned in silence and shook her off.

She panicked. Why was her voice leaving? Where was it going? She couldn’t ask these questions, only beg her voice with pleading eyes to say something, give some explanation. But it didn’t. Her voice turned away from her and stalked out the door.

She slumped on the doorstep and cried silently, wondering how she was going to get along without her voice.
When her voice reached the mailbox, it turned one last time and nodded farewell. Her voice did not speak, but she heard the words nonetheless: You can always write.

1 comment:

Evelyn said...

Wow... seriously!
That made me sniffle... and not because I have a cold...

My sister has gracefully started to collect from the glorious pile of words and metaphors again... and construct little pieces of herself through writing... that in itself is a tear-drop celebration!

As always Monica... I love your words!