She is a collector of all things broken. Her desk and shelves littered with shards and shivers of sentiments and stolen kisses. There are days when her vision blurs with farewell voyages and fiery vices. Her fingers toil with tethering time to tiny vessels of tarnished words. The lines on her face gather the sweat of her greatest regrets and the tears of her wasted years. Her lips murmur curses of cocktails, singing sorrow of souls no one remembers. In weathered wooden frames hanging haphazardly around her, there are collages of smiles glued with memories of infatuations and lingering touches. The lyrics of love are stained with loss, tattered with longing. Sunlight reflects and causes a glare on the glory of hope remaining. She bends over the paper before her, her pen poised to spill secrets stored in the amber heat of her eyes. She seeks restoration of his adoration.
**I was graciously given the image below with the theme of “restoration” as a writing prompt. When I first took in the image, my inner Siren began to sing. Oh, how easy this was going to be. But when I set about writing, the words I desperately wanted to write refused to come. Instead, I could only picture an old weathered house. One that needed some attention and adoration. And the piece above transpired. The song was playing simultaneously, yet randomly from my playlist (for the novel I am supposed to be writing). Thank you, C, for challenging me … even in ways you don’t always foresee.**