The books I would write...
I would write a book about a little girl who packs up a backpack with Anne of Green Gables, a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, her favorite stuffed dog, a thermos of apple juice, crayons, and a notebook. She sets off into the woods behind her house, knowing a grand adventure awaits.
I would write a book about a young woman who finds herself living in Paris at 20. Alone. Scared. Riding her bicycle to the little bookshop where she works, her long brown braids blowing in the wind behind her. In chapter 2, she, of course, meets an older man who will eventually break her heart and lead her to the realization that she can only be happy if she first looks in the mirror at her own reflection, alone. In the last chapter, she will meet him. The one. The first person to take care of her and give her space. At the same time.
I would write a book about a mermaid who swims with the whales in the warm blue water off the coast of Maui. And each summer, when her friends leave her for the cooler waters of Alaska, she weeps. Her tears become the sea glass that washes up on shores around the world. And when human women pick up this glass, they feel a deep connection to its opaque color and smooth texture and an undercurrent of understanding that they are not alone of their journey.
But the book I would write,
the one that is living inside my soul right now,
the one that grows and takes a breath with each beat of my heart,
the one I would write would begin something like this:
The room was quiet except for the clip clop of the pink flip flops I wore on my feet. My mother had questioned me when I walked out to the car, "Are those the only shoes your brought with you?" "I don't think she'll notice," I had replied. She was on the far side of the room, and as I saw her there, I remember having the thought, "this is what love feels like." I suddenly had clarity and love was no longer an indescribable feeling. In that moment, walking up to her, I knew that this is what it is to love someone and know that person has a piece of your heart. And as stood there and looked at her I also knew that this is what is feels like to have your heart broken. The blinders were ripped off, quickly like a blast of cold, air rolling across Lake Michigan in winter. My heart cracked open. My soul would be forever changed.
(visit Sunday Scribblings to read more responses to this prompt)