the girl and her suitcase of words

She kicked off her tiny white shoes and crept inside her pretty conchshell for a good read. It was a book of inner thoughts she penciled whenever a free moment found her.

They didn’t seem to find her much any more, so she went searching. The seagulls asked, ‘why haven’t you come lately?’

And all that was sad and beautiful tumbled out in murmuring answer from her suitcase, succumbing to the soft waves echoing faraway shores, rushing for the blue lady’s liquid embrace.

She watched, as words etched itself on a page, the invisible pen wielded by quiet thoughts strengthened by froth and spray.

She watched, as the seagulls flew over her cradle and her chapel.