She was neither fake nor vain; she could not understand why other women crowded in shops looking for the perfect dress or the most exquisite necklace, and how they enjoyed their dreams at night when all they could see were their pretentious bodies bathed in gold. She was grateful though – the more women there are in beauty shops, the less there are in the dusty bookstores where she found the most exquisite and perfect stories that conjure her technicolor dreams at night.
At the local library he had been persuaded to take out a ‘talking book’. It had been wonderful to start with, but now the thing wouldn’t shut up!
She packed up all my books and letters and bundled them away.
I wish she would destroy them; they are holding me to this plane.
Sometimes I think about all the books I’ll never write.
Most of them are about you.
Envelopes keep arriving from the future with best-selling books in them.
I’d type them out and submit them but man, typing is hard.
Writing children’s books was beautiful and I loved it.
I fear I peaked too soon.
The cat came out of it’s hiding place, where it waited, perched on the bookshelf; waiting for it’s owner to take that one book from the shelf, so the cat could jump back into the book and start all over again. Only, the cat didn’t want to leave this place.
Again and again the King returns, the war is won, the kiss is given and the Ever After is secure. Again and again I open the cover and make them relive it.