I have a table at the library
I think of it as mine.
It faces the window and I can look out — divine
Sometimes there are cars in a line
Or birds overhead.
Almost always the bushes wave in the windy wind.
I am not here every day
Yet I still think of it as mine.
Type, type, type my fingers move
Surrounded by stories
Of love and death
Of mystery and hope
Of characters I love
Of characters I hate
Though I write alone
Stories and adventures are always nearby
I have a table at the library
I think of it as mine.
#mondaysby midnight
