With eyes of deep and beautiful intent she asked for language not just words. So I replied” What language would you have to elevate your soul and inspire that deep resonating force you call your creative mind. Are you looking for words imbued with force or more flowery and descriptive verse.”

There came no reply so I continued. “Say the word and I will dismember my already mutilated mind to find the right words. Find the perfect purple blossom, fold my soul into its tiny wrinkles and give it to you as a gift.”
Still silence reigned, taring at my deeply sorrow filled heart. For though I was full of affection she was not. Thus I ended” I would see the brown leaf, dried and crumbling, hear the strange music it makes, till fall winds carried the crumbled bits away, or they settled down to add another layer to this life. As a writer you remind me to look deeper into to everything, for that I thank you.”

Her reply was the quiet night. I let the truth settle. She saw no need to reply to me, I was but a broken petal. She was a blooming beauty full formed flower, an artist above my station. So I settled for my own company. A shadow sinking in the corner, with only lovely words to keep me company.