born in words

SHE WAS BORN BETWEEN THE LINES and would spend a lifetime in search of the perfect words to explain it. And she viewed the world from far corners many never knew existed, where dreamers dreampt dreams set in technicolor motion. 

She lived for the moments in which ideas were born, for the object of her affection and greatest desire could be found scrawled in thoughts and sonnets and stories on the backs of to-do lists, paper napkins and torn journal pages. 

Her twisted pleasure came each time she sat down and set her pen to paper; each time she bled out black ink until she ran dry. Still, her truth was this and the only road to walk was the one that lay before her..

For all the world was a story it seemed, and she was born to tell it. 


her neverland

There was a colorful wall of wisdom that greeted her each time she swung the front door open. It was the solace she so badly needed after a long day, nestled inside of that tiny third story apartment she called home.

She often wondered if the way a pet owner felt upon returning from a grueling day – met with the rapidly wagging tail of a puppy – equated to the giddiness she experienced when welcomed back to her own abode by those bookshelves she loved more than life itself; filled with more magical stories than one could count.

It seemed impossible to explain the way black ink on white paper could provide such a feeling of being at home in her own skin. Only when she was deeply entrenched in a good book did she ever feel that she belonged; that she was free of judgment and criticism; the only time she didn’t feel so alone in her anxious anticipation for the future.

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