i wonder.

i read a book today that made me strangely tingly inside. i sat still after running my fingers over those final words and wondered if the human being, the author that packed each word with spine-tingling meaning, had completed this quickly. i imagined her in my mind scrawling these words on any write-able material she could scavenge during the great depression, then my mind moved to the image of her thinking out each paragraph, each line, while reading and rereading all of her previous work in search of impeccable perfection.

i wonder if while she wrote, she imagined the story going differently; if she thought of her lover and changed her words so the ending result wouldn't be so revealing. i wonder if she said the words in her mind as she wrote and felt the fluency for herself. i wonder if she realized while composing this work of art how much it would change society, the world even. i wonder if she felt the power her readers feel when they soak in the beauty.  i wonder and wonder. i wonder how anything could be so beautiful, in such a plain way.

b.