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My Favourite Author

I wondered if I could sit in your shadow. While you turn your face to the sun, I will lie prostrate in your silhouette. I would not disturb your thoughts; Id keep very still.

At the end of the day, I could sweep up all those discarded words and phrases and paragraphs and, if I may, keep them in a pocket close to my heart. These are the ones that do not fit between the lines, the ones left unsaid. I would make an altar of your words and I would build it in the temple of your books. To read you is to worship you. I offer up to you my constant readership and the open door of my imagination. I have sacrificed whole mornings to you, bus rides and long soaks in a steaming bath. I have shared communion with the children of your soul. When the darkness stretches before me and sleep is out to play and wont come home, no matter how many times I call; when the waiting room was full and I am bottom of the list, you give me succour. My homage is the least I can offer.

Story by:

Jayne Thickett

submitted at 6:55pm

16 August 2009