She couldn't breathe
Her soul was too drunk on poetry
To even speak
The right words were unavailable emotionally
But passionately
Steadily
With every single feathered letter
Staining these tea colored sheets
She'd remember,
And read intuitively
A sentence of treasured mystery
A single line was written and left behind
Anonymously
That could inspire her every time;
"You are made to create your own opportunities"
And just like that
Her mind was realigned
And her insecurities fell back asleep