It was beautiful, sillywabbit. I liked the following especially:
Quote:
Originally Posted by Sillywabbit
I became an old woman, I would tell stories to the grandchildren that flocked around my skirts. They would all come running. Grandma, Grandma, please tell us a story! I would smile and tell them of coarse. I would tell them about the old days because you have to know where you come from to know where you are going. I would tell the children about our people because it’s important to know who you are. And sometimes, I would tell them stories about the giants.
So I talked in the darkness to the warm hands. They listened. Though nobody clapped me, but we all felt better.
I remember the first time the door opened to the winter world and he stood there. Michelangelo could have carved him with his very own hands from the finest, smoothest, whitest of marble stone. He had handsome blue eyes. And he asked me that I was the one that told stories. I was very slow to answer, but I said yes. And what else could I have done? So he asked me to tell him. About the old days. About giants. About everything and he listened. He never said anything but a smile would break out on his lips when I was done and it was time for him to go. He would thank me. Then he would leave. And so it would go.
Now he says soon our time together is at an end. He has asked me to write down my stories for him. And how could I say no? So. And here I am with this fine pen and this luxurious paper in my hand. The paper smells good and is rough between my fingers. It’s strange that I am here. Like a flower, pressed and preserved, between the pages of a book. Here is me. Anna. Preserved between lines and the words. I will always be here.
you wrote really well. it was like the lyrical soft melancholy romote murmuring.
Thank you for sharing.
Goodday,
