Blank pages eyed the writer expectantly, rustling proudly
as her hand hovered.
‘She’s going to pick me!’ a blowsy pink exterior exclaimed.
‘I doubt it,’ mocked the faux suede.
‘She didn’t run her fingers up and down your spine.’
‘Madame m’a ouvert et m’a regardée. Vive la difference.’
‘Graph paper!’ chortled the comic-face.
‘Squares are for maths, love,’
‘Clean lines rule.’ declared a wiry exhibit.
A collective sigh escaped as the writer reached out again,
choosing. Running hands over the slightly rough surfaces,
seeds of stories rooted, began branching. Words weaved,
stitched together, texturing tales. This was it, the one.
Click here to view the design that inspired this piece of writing.