The Birth of a Book

She had flames for hair, ignited by her mind. The dead silence of the night like fuel to her thoughts. So she poured her heart out, as best as she could. But too many words were at a race with each other. Too many dreams, too many goals. So she would close her eyes and imagine a world where time stopped and let her catch up. Where her mind possessed the ability to give shapes and feelings to empty words. This became her refuge, where she didn’t have to harbor but flourish in her mind’s eye.

Within her world she sprouted up blooms that turned into gardens which fed her words colors. Waves became creatures fighting for their place while the wind ran away from her with the secret she yearned for most. The gusts that did brush her would cry tears of ink that the earth would soak up, stealing it from her, making her world it’s own. So she fought with herself. Draining out what it took. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more words.

So she learned not to reap her own harvest, but sow and let grow. Then the words would fill this world with the overabundance she desired. Fields of words would intertwine into the most beautiful of creations. One day.

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