In her dreams, the house floors were carpeted with all manner of elaborate floral hairclips, discarded carelessly upon loosening. How they had irked her before.
Now, she bitterly relished the sting of them underfoot as she floundered around her mind jail, desperate for another glimpse of her lost little culprit.
Saaiqa has always been interested in writing, and is finally having a go.
Today she endeavours to write something beautiful. She searches her heart and plumbs the depths of her soul. Her late desires and long regrets pour into her pen, but it won’t write.
Unopened, so many letters before had drizzled back: RETURN TO SENDER.
How many can a broken heart take?
Saaiqa has always been interested in writing, and is finally having a go.
Hands together, tip forward, and dive. Make a silent splash into pages filled with stunning imagery of enchanted places and mysterious people. Swim dreamily under a tide of words too foreign for your own life, when strung together.
Above the surface, someone calls out, drags you back to boring reality.
Saaiqa has always been interested in writing and is finally having a go.
Wandering through the beautiful Sintra forest, I marveled at the trees, so tall and strong: a gargantuan sentinel army, protecting inhabitants against the elements.
But each perfectly straight trunk leans strangely, parallel all. Daily pummeling from heavy winds takes its toll.
Submissive they bow, slaves to a more powerful master.
Saaiqa has always been interested in writing and is finally having a go.