Just Maybe

In her time, owning a type writer is a blessing
while everyone was glorifying the hype of letters
and quills, she took pride in having her typewriter
it took her 4 months and 6 days to collect for it
and now, it’s there

She kept it in a leather box under her bed
Her childhood instincts made her believe it will forever be safe
She loved the rush she had when she used to type
the effort put in every letter rushes through her fingers
with flaming energy

Sometimes she stayed sitting for hours
orchestrating lines among lines of flowing stories
or just stanzas of fantasies

Like in a relationship
she always rushed home to open her treasured typewriter
and lose herself, find herself, create herself, create worlds
characters, she just wanted to vent those bottled beings
on paper, she wanted to breathe life into the open

With winter and routine, her creations began to dull
so did her ideas, instead of being light bulbs
illuminating the dark alleys of her mind, they were dimming
flickering with last breaths of life

(Fuck routine)

It’s been a while since her inspiration visited her
she’s been busy or hypnotized by busy to a point
where even her paper started collecting dust

She comes home, she checks under her bed
and smiles confirming it’s there then goes off
it seems her life is taking a different turn
but the fact that she always does the ritual check up
reminds her that she has got something there

It all started on one rainy afternoon
At 5:00 to be exact , when she came home
wet with acid rain and muddy with 3rd world dirt
she let gravity take its course and crashed on the couch
replaying her boring day’s instances

Then all of a sudden she jolted upwards
as if possessed by an unnamed power
and went to her bedroom, and slowly slid her typewriter
into the light

“I am so sorry, I’ve missed you”
she saw a doodle of a stick figure on the top dusty part
“Hmm, I don’t.. um..”

She blew the dust from it and with ecstatic hands
she opened it, she still had a paper there but it was blank
like her mind had been for a while
or so she remembers…

“once upon a time is too cliche, let’s start with hello darling”
was typed on the paper there
She scavenged her memory for an explanation
but was at a loss,

“Hello?” as silly as she felt, there was a strange urge
that pushed her to write

She sat there, trying to ration with her mind

Nothing… silence, tapping rain
she let out a shaky laugh and went to cook dinner
it seems like it’s going to be a quiet night, she confirmed it
in her mind that is

As she made her way to the kitchen
“tic tic tac tic tic”

She twisted her body and arrayed her vision
to the type writer, it was there, quiet, and solid

Grabbing her heart, she walked with hesitated curiosity
“I’ve missed you” were centered under her margined “hello”

Some surreal power, overcame her body
and her heart beat to that line, as if she’s heard it before
she can also pinpoint a voice to that line

She whispered to herself
“this is not funny”
She stood there
arms crossed
as if protecting her heart from beating
that nostalgic thud

it typed again
“this is
the only way
I can say
she burst into tears
floods of emotions drowned her
in her sadness and curiosity
she, somehow, knew who it was

“tic tic tic”
three dots were typed

she stood there
for a second,
looking at the paper
marveling at the intensity
of words, she lit a cigarette to
accompany her tornado of irrational ideas

“Maybe he has a typewriter
as well”
was the only thought
that made
sense to

typewriter woman


2 thoughts on “Just Maybe

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