The Book in my Head

The book in my head comes in colors of tawny gold and sage green, with sunlight filtering through green leaves, and boiling clouds on the horizon.

The book in my head transmutes black scratches on a white background into sadness, loneliness, heartache, loss, redemption, fear, and unexpected laughter and joy.

The book in my head will never become the book on the page. Sometimes the book in my head gets close, but the black scratches on a white background always fail to capture everything they are meant to. That’s okay. Don’t blame the black scratches. They do their best. The writer does her best. The scratches are imperfect; we forgive the scratches.

The book in my head waits for the reader. The book in my head waits for the reader to receive the imperfect messages in the black scratches, impatient for a reader’s forgiving reception, a reader’s willing eyes, a reader’s willing brain.

The book in my head is nothing without the reader, ready to receive.

Reader, are you there? Do you read me?


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