The Writer sits alone. She is in a booth at a restaurant. No food at her table, no people beside her. Her family is there, but she’s chosen to sit apart from them. Not because she’s angry, but because their table is full, each seat occupied. The Writer doesn’t order anything. Her thoughts are elsewhere, in a place not many people visit often.
She may be hungry, but even more, she is content. To be honest, the Writer is enjoying this moment much more than she ever thought she would. She can’t help herself. She, a Writer, sitting at her own table, in her own world. A place that nobody else could intrude on or ruin. Nothing could stop her smile now.
The few people around the Writer haven’t noticed her yet. Their mouths are much to full of food or words to bother taking any notice of their surroundings. Her only company in the moment, in this single frozen moment in time, is the Window beside her.
The Window enjoys reading her words as much as she enjoys writing them. The Window prompts her to continue, astonished and intrigued by her deep, thoughtful reflections instead of the usual technology that enveloped people. The Window is having the most exhilarating entertainment that it has had in forever.
Outside, people are going on with their own lives. They don’t stop in their tracks, or feel the gaze of the Window, or the Writer. They are too focused on their own steps. They are enjoying or dealing with subjects in life that the Writer can only guess at.
The Window stops the Writer from paying any attention to that. It doesn’t want the Writer to get distracted or lost in the average world’s thoughts. It wants to know the Writer’s story, and of course, the Writer continues to write at her prompt.
The Writer and the Window have never met before, but it feels as if they’ve known each other forever. As if they have been greatest of friends since childhood. They don’t need to speak to know the other’s thoughts. Their minds are connected through the unspoken words of depth and ink.
They are enjoying their moment together. Just them, in a silent, intriguing world of imagination and creation. Just them. The Writer and the Window.
Thank you for reading this writing by J. M. Lilin on, The Unsigned Writer. If you’re enjoying this site, leave a like, and subscribe for more!