her room

She knocks on the door. No one answers. It's a place she's not been to for quite some time now. She turns the knob and the door creaks open. It's dark and musty smelling inside. "Hello?" she says. "Is anybody here?" She feels the wall for a switch, she remembers there was one for the lights, somewhere. 

*click*

And the room illuminates. Brightly lit, lights that shine. She sees rows and rows of shelves, full of files and folders of ideas. Bits and pieces here and there, some complete, most are not. She looks through some and smiles, remembering the events and experiences that inspired those pieces. She had forgotten so much but when she read, she remembered. 

She loved to write. Words were her favourite tool. Her weapon and instrument which she used to practice so often. She was not much of a speaker, her ideas took time to flow and form. Speakers usually speak before they think and their train of thoughts move fast and fleet. Hers was more of a million fragmented jewel pieces, that needed time to be put together. But when she finally did piece them together, she always felt satisfied with how they sparkled. 

She used to keep bits and pieces of jewels she found in this room. Collecting, polishing, and storing away in hopeful anticipation of using them one day. She used to come in here a few times a day, perusing the files in shelves and putting new things in. Sometimes, she brought her work out and showed it to people whom she loved,

However, as she grew older and went through different phases in life. She did not go to the room so often anymore. Sometimes the absence was for just a season and an inspiration would pull her back to the room to work on something. But as she began her job, she went there much lesser. She was tired, busy, caught up. She didn't have time and energy to visit the room. In the end, she stopped going there. 

Until one night, when she suddenly thought, "I loved to write. What happened?" She wondered  about the room and if her jewels were still there. And so she went back to the room, her room. 

--

And here she is, putting together another piece of fragmented jewels in hopes that she will not forget how much she loves to write.