.
He stood staring at her.
Waiting.
She realized he would not budge.
The storm inside her increased it's pressure.
And with a frail and forced voice the words
"I come with a lot of luggage, and from time to time i might need help with carrying it."
were uttered, like a ragged whisper.
Silence was what followed.
.
3 comments:
words are weapons. the best kind, in my humble opinion. they are weapons against others, against ourselves. it's a good thing. i often say that i am nothing without my words. and know this: your sword is sharp.
keep writing.
Läste din text via en viss designnörd ;) i morse och jag har burit med mig den hela dagen. Så igenkännade... Fast jag har lärt mig leva med bagaget så att bördan knappt känns numera.
Känner du till Rumi? Min favoritpoet nummer ett. (Du hittar en "sång" med hans text på min blogg och en hemsida om Rumi på www.khamush.com)
Happy the one who has become like us;
who has become all surrender and contenment;
Who has become the pledge of love and madness;
who has become a jewel in the sea of purity.
Ja, troligen sa det ar
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