I prop the library book on my face like a tent. I know the pages are musty and have been touched by who the hell knows how many hands that have been who the fuck knows where. I really don’t care. Let the filth of countless fingers caress my skin. I’ll wash my face later. Right now I’ve got talking to do.
I whisper into the musty pages everything I don’t want to write or say. And imagine that the next person who checks this book out will hear me when he gets to the pages that touched my face.

0 thoughts on “Unspoken

  1. Are you kidding me with that? You better get yourself BLOGGING several times a day until you are back to a respectable standing. You are obviously rusty and I need the image of that poor cat erased from my mind.

  2. Darling, I meant no offense by mistakenly implying you had quit blogging. Let’s say it was my ulterior motive to get you to post more! Yes, that’s it! *twirls evil mustache between fingers*

  3. That’s one amazing cat! Well worth the wait. But wait! This isn’t the cat that ran into the blind guy is it???

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