Writers Jam

i used to carry you everywhere. my pocket-sized companion to the school library, the open terrace, my childhood home. i took you out once, wanting everyone to see; ill- prepared for the littany of questions that edged on just the wrong side of teasing and sent you scrambling.

i looked everywhere. i have never liked being the seeker but i rummaged through cupboards, frantically flipped pages of journals, as if you would fall out if i shook the house hard enough. a small earthquake would have been convenient (i was desperate). my parents don’t question your disappearance. i don’t know if i should be grateful. i know you lingered by my 21st birthday, flickering in the haze of the candles. 

i am 23 and curled under my blanket and humming a soft tune and you are here. the glow so faint i almost mistake you for a stranger. you have shrivelled into an unfamiliar shape but when i sit by you long enough, you light up the room. i tuck you in a crevice between my ribs for safekeeping.

i suppose a dream does find its way back.