The paper whispered as she flips through, reading at a machine’s pace.

“Why did you write this?” she asks, gesturing at the remaining pages on the scratched desk.  “It’s raw, really raw.”

I take a deep breath and think of what I should say to this woman who could make the difference between the words seeing the light of day by reaching an audience or remaining in my laptop.

I saw myself, two years ago, journaling across paper pockmarked by tears.  I remembered the linoleum was puke brown as I walked away from the gossipers, a brittle smile on my face, as I once again lied about how ‘great we were all doing’.  Knowing they neither knew how to comfort me nor wanted to.  My neck still ached from the weight of the entire family upon my shoulders.  My arms stiff from holding my self together.

photo-of-person-s-hand-2598761 (2)

Photo by Valeriia Miller from Pexels

I breathe in again.  “I wrote it to reach across an ocean of pain to the one woman who needs to hear that she isn’t alone and she hasn’t broken anything beyond what Grace and Love can repair,” I answer, looking the literary agent in the eye.

“I wrote the book I needed to read all those years ago,” I finished.  At her blank stare, I stand and reach for the pile of papers. “I don’t want anyone to go through what I went through, alone, with no words of comfort and hope.” I stand, back stiff, arms full of the pages. “If it’s not for you, it’s for someone.  Maybe it’s just for me.  Thank you for your time.”  I turn and walk out the door.

Before I can reach the elevator and make my escape to cry in my car, a hand grasps my arm.  It’s her.

“It’s for me too,” she says, tears in her eyes, “Let’s go back and see if we can reach an agreement and get this into the hands of the other women who need it.”

If you ever wondered why I write…it’s for you.  It’s for me.  And dear one, there is nothing beyond Grace and Love’s grasp.  Let’s reach together. -KR


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