Story from 130911

writing story

published 1970-01-01 00:00

updated 1970-01-01 00:00

%date 130911 00:00

Poetry. She wrote poetry in her free time. I thought it was something petty that went into that black book of hers, but she wrote poetry. She put pen to paper to make words in an attempt to make them mean more than what they represented. To garner emotions and then concentrate them into one place, Here. Emotions I was almost unsensible about. Iambic pentamenter was her favorite. I could tell by the way the words curled off her tongue and onto the page. Even the letters seemed to have a little more flair if they were in meter. Now it explains the way she used to smile every so often and I'd ask her, 'What?' and she'd simply shake her head and continue her beaming. Maybe if she was around now I'd give her a kiss and tell her I love her poetry.