Water for a memory

There she sat on a rounded key,
the typewriter
gasping for air, paper dust having
filled its lungs,
the ribbon thirsting for words, a 
key crawling
through space in search of white
paper…
she, in her head, replicating every
letter typed,
gray hair’s footsteps walking through
the memory 
of a younger person; she wraps 
herself in 
a blanket of self-contentment,
falling 
deeper into an impression of
the past.

 

Copyright © 04/08/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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