Today was her time to write.
There would be no urge to rest, to give way to pity …. Today young Jasmine would write.
So…
Jasmine wrote ….
It was early on a Friday with Mr. Paul, the teacher she learned to express her heart from and on this morning she did precisely that. Jasmine pulled a black pen from her backpack pocket, pressed it to the notebook and she wrote.
“They are people I …. Look to …. I need them …. But …. Sometimes I see something …. And it…. Tells me about where they are now. I mean, we are all in this place together…. But I see something that they are hiding from.”…. Jasmine was not holding back today. She was in her flow.
“They work so hard to create these characters, they design these protective shells that guard them and then….
………. They have erased their truest ‘self’.
They lost track, they forgot & gave away a piece of their heart.”
Mr. Paul walked by looked on and he tried to keep shuffling as if he didn’t notice…. This….
This was something he noticed.
“Jasmine….” He whispered with an exhaled pride.
“You can write…”. … “… oh my”.
Jasmine sat up, quietly adjusted her position in the seat and she looked forward with a feeling she had never understood before. This was a feeling of exuberant, confidence.
“Um…. Thank you. … ..”. This time she lifted her head even further and finally she released flakes of doubt with a subtle
shake.
Philip Dane 