Say you will come.
Say you will come to me in the night time
Smelling of summertime and laundry detergent and sweat.
Say you will sit by me and talk awhile.
And if your hand brushes mine while we sit and talk
I will let you pretend that it was entirely by accident.
I'll let you run if you want to.
I'll let you say this means nothing more.
You have no idea.
I will write you into my life.
Words are surer traps than snares
And stickier yet.
Say you will come.
Let me talk to you
Tell stories to you
Build worlds around you
String them like pearls to hang around your neck
Each one tiny, perfect, individual
Cunning constructions.
I will write you in, then
I will write you into my worlds and my life.
Say you will come.
Who else would craft such fine-spun splendors?
who else would do these things for you?
I will write you into my life
I will write my life into you
I will write you
I will.
I

Say.

Almost every day, you could find my small figure prancing down the long stone trail that lead through the forest outside of town.

Mum said that the path was built a very long time ago. There was once a small village on the other side. They were of a hard working sort, she said, and would often be in our town to buy goods or to work.

Nobody walks the path anymore, she said. There was a huge fire, one big enough that everyone in town was afraid that the fire would spread and burn up their houses.

Nobody walks the path anymore, she said once, I recall.

For one thing, I walked the path. It was beautiful and so much fun, and I could just relax with my friends, who also walked the path.

I tried talking about my friends once, but mum wouldn't believe me. She said it was a very good story. Good fiction.

Dad used to bring me and walk me through the path. It was never far, but it was far enough to catch the attention of a very young child. He died a long time ago. I don't remember, but mum says he got very, very sick.

Sometimes during the rainy season, it will flood, and the path will end up a little stream I can sail paper boats down, even long after the rain has stopped. One time, the water was moving much faster than usual. I rushed after my precious, tiny vessel and followed the path a little further than normal before I caught it.

Now that I had broke my normal bounds, I was overwhelmed by curiosity over the unseen forest. I kept going, and eventually, I met Typhin.
He had seen me long before I saw him, and he followed me before revealing himself.

"Whhho Are You?" he stared at me with huge all-encompassing eyes
I found that I couldn't speak.

"Do Not Feear Me, Child"
"I Am Typhhin, Feear Me Not"
I was utterly frozen as he crawled towards me, pacing to be behind me, his tail trapping me from exit.
"Whhho Are You? Whhere Are You Frrrom?"

"Come, I wwwill take you hhome."

PostcardQuest2011 : using this image

In`vi*ta"tion (?), n. [L. invitatio: cf. F. invitation. See Invite.]

1.

The act of inviting; solicitation; the requesting of a person's company; as, an invitation to a party, to a dinner, or to visit a friend.

2.

A document written or printed, or spoken words, onveying the message by which one is invited.

3.

Allurement; enticement.

[R.]

She gives the leer of invitation. Shak.

 

© Webster 1913.

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