She Could Take My Hand

This is how it could have been.

She could have been the one that took my ordinary days and carved them into jewelled moments. Taken the mundane life I fell into, and created a new world. Made something new out of this dry dust I stumble through as the dull dawn tries to break the hold of the night keeping me prisoner in this cold tower, waiting for the day to come.

She could have been the one that opened that dark door, led me along the corridor and out into the bright daylight. Taken me out into a world where the possible grows like the grass. A place where the trees, the flowers and the birdsong hints of something waiting around the next bend in the road that will make all those years of waiting worthwhile.

Instead, though, I turned away from my window when she came along, walking down that path on her way to bathe in the seas of possibility. I turned back to this desk and the papers. I was far too busy to go with her, despite all the promises she made and the tales she told me of the lands beyond this cold tower.

Instead, I turned back to my papers.

Then I began writing one more story about the woman who came looking for me, and why I turned away.