I wrote about Calliope.
Just a girl I used to know.
Let me read it to you.
Hmmm…
I thought I had it here,
but it’s gone.
She’s gone.
She left.
Like the others.
Sometimes I feel that she peeks in on me.
Looks through the window probably,
or watches from the wood.
Her visits are fewer now.
Shorter in duration,
Further in between.
I stare at a blank page.
Almost hear her laughing.
Boy, don’t I know it.
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What a wonderful take on this feeling writers can know too well. Forlorn, but maybe a bit of hope in that last line.
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How beautiful and poignant.
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Thank you. Glad you liked it!
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Spot on, Thom. This could be a script for a short animated film.
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Ya think so?
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A museum with a sense of humor.
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Ha ha ha!
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