You said you’d read me like your favorite childhood book.
Cherishing every word as they mimicked a story
you knew so well. While evolving over the years into
something much more. Studying my eyes as the
illustrations of my soul poured out in tears like
rivers you traveled. Yet instead of flowing with the
currents of happiness you forced me to bend my pages
at your will, fraying my already delicate edges, tearing me
apart and leaving me waiting for days on end…
You’d left for good; our book never to be read or cherished
again. I rushed into my study, seeking solace from the pain that
threatened to engulf me whole. My tears blinded me as
I flung myself to the floor before my bookshelf, jarring loose
a book. It fell to my lap like a dove falling dead to the earth,
but perhaps it was more a message of hope than despair. I picked
it up and gave a wry smile. “The Secret Garden”: an unlikable
heroine, and how I could see myself in Mary Lennox and her
circumstances. The book itself, a tattered old paperback, reflected
my life almost as well as the story contained within its battered covers.
Writing collaboration between Jenn Farmer (2nd part) and myself (1st).
This project was a lot of fun considering our different writing styles and I believe it came out wonderfully between the two of us. Hopefully if this is done again we can get more writers to collaborate.