The old typewriter had a mind of it’s own. And it waited, perched comfortably on the old desk, softly-worn keys shining invitingly. It had been years since anyone had sat down to write with it–but it didn’t mind. It was patient.

One day, someone would climb up the attic stairs and see it waiting–a child, perhaps, curious eyes lighting up when they spotted it. They would clamber up onto the creaky chair and run chubby fingers over it, hitting a key here or there and giggling with glee as they watched the black ink appear on the aged paper that it still carried. And then, maybe, just maybe, they would write, their fancy taking wing and spilling out onto the paper. And it would sing with the words, once again filled with the joy and life of a story.

And for that moment, the typewriter would wait.


So, River recently introduced me to Mondays Finish the Story…this was the result. ^w^

I hope you like it!



4 thoughts on “Patience

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