Bathing

The book lie in the water, face down, opened.
She picked it up as the soaked pages poured and dripped.
She had read this, her favorite, many times. It was not the first time it had been drenched from her bath.
The swollen words with their familiar dreams,
the story of comfort she would relinquish her solitude to when nothing else would hold her in an embrace,
the memorized texture of the written fabric, was again drowned and rescued
as were her silent yearnings.
In her experienced manner, she placed the book on the rack, draping over the rounded pipe, the crying pages of the open book. In a few days, she would remove it from there and allow a warm, ventilated area to finish the process.
Times before, she wondered why she did not just discard the mess and start with a new, bounded release.
She could not throw away her friend, the gift she had received, a treasured memory. She was not ready.She cannot.
I can not.

Raine Les 5/22/2008

everyday.....yup

Good writing...I'd love to read a short story by you.

That was really good

Thank you, so appreciated. What will you do with your writing?

Thank you, how is your day going?

This write!