I stare at the manual typewriter. I have not used it for a long time. In my mind, I hear the click and clack of the keys it makes when I type. The pages pile up next to it. I write the first draft of a new book old style. I share the past with writers long gone.

I imagine sitting in a small office I rented. A secret place where my typewriter sits on a desk. I walk to my office every morning. A stack of blank paper sits beside the typewriter. I fill the pages with words. My life is all bliss in my secret office.

I pour heart and soul into my book. This next time nothing will be left of me when I finish. I will be completely spent.

I would tell V about my office.  She would be the only one to know.  She would be sworn to secrecy.  Don’t tell a soul!

She would stop by after work sometimes.  My office would be stocked with our favorite beverages.  We would sit at a small table looking at each other and sharing our day while sipping our drinks.  Then we would go out together into the night made glorious by her being near.

I return. The cursor on the computer screen winks at me.

Published in: on March 3, 2008 at 12:47 pm  Leave a Comment  

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