I’ve been working for so long
that the pen between my fingers feels more
like a pickaxe
chipping away a tiny piece of rock here and there
in search of gold that may or
may not exist.
The callouses demand I take a break
before my ink turns too red.
It is then that I discover
all the fairies that have come around me.
All the dryads and naiads and
nymphs and fauns and woodland sprites
surround me.
They call out to me, asking me to play.
It is like
a baby seeing the rain for the first time
or spinning so fast she falls.
I join them,
and they shower me in the gold
I had been bleeding for.

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