What if We Wrote the Same Thing

What if we wrote the same thing at the same time?

words spilling out like rain,

in a place where rain never falls

still, but certain,

stirring the stillness like a secret,

just waiting to bloom,

to break,

to be seen.

What if the letters met halfway?

a sentence unfinished,

but still whole

each thought reaching across

like shadows brushing daylight,

unsure where the line begins,

unsure where it fades,

a quiet flutter tugging at the space between.

What if we missed each other

by a breath,

a moment that might have been

an entire lifetime

between two keystrokes?

And we never knew

what slipped between the silences,

never knew what might have risen

if only we had whispered closer,

whispered clearer.

What if our words were never ours?

but echoes borrowed from elsewhere,

fragments of things unspoken,

untouched,

drifting through the stillness between us

repeating,

repeating,

until all that’s left

is the ghost of a thought,

half-shaped,

half-lost,

a murmur still moving somewhere

in the space we never crossed.

What if we wrote the same thing?

and never saw it

the ink between breaths,

the breath between letters,

where nothing was spoken,

but everything was understood,

a truth blooming in the stillness,

a thread knotted in what we never dared to finish.

Reviews

[Lorry]

I reckon that our first thought would be the other plagiarised our work, but I can be so cynical at times! 😃
But then you take it further with missed words and further still by us just recycling old lines and this turns itself into a really thought provoking piece.
Can we ever be truly sure our words are our own, especially when the muse gets so much credit for our work.
I have no answers, but I reckon that the muse must be doing okay out of it all!
😃