Doing time

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Through the life line of a handwritten letter, her pulse could be measured in the number of times she wrote then erased his name.

As many times written, twice multiplied were the thoughts of him that never made it to paper.

Scared off by the “would not” and “should not” thoughts pacing in front of her window eyes.

Patrolling her conscience.

Ready to press charges against feelings already locked up behind rib cage bars, doing time.

As for the thoughts that never made it out,

The ones that didn’t want to escape only to lie flat against paper,

The ones that couldn’t stand to be woven into the white flag of a page, surrendering.

They curled up in a ball in her throat.

Refusing to be sentenced.

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22 thoughts on “Doing time

  1. I really like the rhythm of the line: “As many times written, twice multiplied were the thoughts of him that never made it to paper.” Metaphor and photo are perfect together. —–Chagall

  2. Nice reading about you

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