She comes to me in the night and we become one. Her gentle ivory fingers caress me and soon we are off to faraway places, places where only she and I exist, places where there are no judges, witnesses, and no interruptions. Places where she is free to be herself and I take her in, I welcome her, I comfort her, and I accept her. I am hers and she is mine.
It was awkward at first, neither one of us knew quite what we were doing; we were both new at this. Her fingers trembled and she touched me ever so gently as if she were afraid to break me. But soon she gained her composure and gave into her feelings. We had to try many times before getting it right. Painful, sweaty, loud, quiet, trembling, exciting, terrifying, long restless nights. We didn’t give up, no we never gave up. It was as though we each knew what the other needed and our only purpose was to make sure that we fulfilled the others every desire. She poured her heart and soul into me, revealed her deepest darkest secrets, we were a perfect match. She with her gentle ivory fingers, those beautiful soft fingers that never gave up, never weakened, never strayed, and I with my
My ribbon is my soul, my thoughts, my memories, my past, present and future. It is her soul, her thoughts, her memories, her past, present and future. It is what binds us. It is a record of us. Without my ribbon we are but strangers, lost in time, with no connection, no history, no escape, and no truth. The truth about love, deceit, mystery, suspense, love, tragedy, comedy, life, and love. The truth. Her truth is in my ribbon, it is right there, right in the center of me, where it will live until it fades, as all things fade, right there until I am of no use to her, right there in plain sight to be mocked, and ravaged and spent, discarded and forgotten.
My ribbon is OUR soul, OUR thoughts, OUR memories, OUR past, present and future.
And I am but her typewriter.