The Notebook

“This time it will be different, it will, it will, it will.” She repeats her promise over and over, the needle jumping inside her head.

“This time I will be controlled and calm, I’m sure he will notice”, she thinks, “He must notice and if he doesn’t, I will make sure he does!”

She laughs out loud at the thought.

Heads turn, she blushes and turns away to face the window. Outside the rain falls and sparkling droplets race each other down the glass as the sky rolls and roars above.

“How apt” she murmurs.

As the bus slowly winds its way through street after street she revisits her journey. She remembers how each passing footstep changed her view, how every moment brought new understanding and that moment when it all clicked and became real. Achingly, painfully, wonderfully real.

With a sigh she reaches into her bag, digs out her notebook and jots down another idea knowing it may languish there for sometime but feeling better for capturing it. She slowly flicks through the pages, enjoying the memories as they flood into view. She pauses now and then as the turn of a page recalls a moment of magic with such vibrance the rest of the world is whitewashed from existence, another page and the hue changes from white to blue, butterflies explode from the folds.

Here and there she dabs at the pages, flourishing her pen like a quill, embellishing ideas and images, tiny details to tweak the reality held within them. She smiles contentedly.

Lost amongst the fibres and ink, she doesn’t notice the man sitting across from her, studying her, fascinated by her fascination. He watches the corners of her mouth twitch, the casual turn of her wrist as she trails ink across the page. He can’t make out what is written there and decides that he is content that it will remain unknown to him, for now at least.

His eyes watch as she lifts her head, the clouds break overhead and sunlight fills his view. Dazzled for a moment he closes his eyes and, when he opens them, she is gone.

He wonders what she has written, and then reminds himself that his pleasure was in surrendering to the unknown. With a telling smile he reaches down and from the depths of his bag, retrieves his own notebook.

He opens at a fresh page and waits for the words to arrive.

Written By

Long time blogger, Father of Jack, geek of many things, random photographer and writer of nonsense.

Doing my best to find a balance.

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