Fear of a Writer

That's what I'm going to do.

I'll sit home and write until the world goes down.

Then I'll wake up in the morning and make tea.

I'll go sit in the chair by my window.

I'll look at outside under the warm yellow day.

Watch it until I can write again.

I'll pet the fury cat on my table sitting on top of my papers.

The sun rarely come up.

I don't mind.

I'm a cloud girl.

Women.

Have I loved to be one?

But I'm nor sad nor happy.

I'm feeling settlement.

Like I trust what I have is fine.

And I pick up the habit again.

I can only imagine him.

He's not young anymore.

But he stays the same in my head.

I'd fallen and staid where I saw him first.

And I haven't met him.

I'm young.

Physically...mentally...matter of fact young.

But when I waited...I waited until I was grey.

I write.

It's all I've ever felt.

Words,

pictures,

of a smile...

of a beautiful eyes,

of a right hight,

of miles....

The distance among us.

God bless the strong heart.

It's been putting up for a long time.