Sometimes there are no words to describe a beautiful picture.
You simply float in its colours, mesmerised.
You are a writer in a bottle, swirling in a wordless dream.
(Image credit: Pan Da Chuan via Unsplash)
Written for Three Line Tales, Week 77
The writer hummed a melancholy tune. She was losing her words, and she didn’t know why. She dreamed in full colour, but every time she woke another word had disappeared. She needed the words. They’re what bound the dreams to paper.
So she went to the place where she knew they slept. The book was old and tattered, but its words were as eager as ever to spring from the page.
She cast her net wide and far. She would catch all the words she could, and this time she wouldn’t let go.
(Written for Tale Weaver #125: of the writerly persuasion 22.06.17)
onto the paper –
page remains blank