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Where My Metaphors Begin

Dear Heart,

Buttercup

I am often at a loss when I wonder where my metaphors come from whenever I write about you. Every page I colour is filled with what I see in you; these metaphors arise from the heavens you show me, and I merely capture them in my writing.

What I ink down are the images you leave behind, a million colors of you. Being a writer, I simply preserve what you carry, for it is too precious to let sink into the mud. 

I do not create images of my own; it is you who holds them within you. I merely gather them and give them a place to rest upon these papers.  

My literary art owes itself  to you, for without words, images, metaphors, a writer has no place to exist. 

Till the next you come,

Bye.

~Zara M.

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