Ripples from Raindrops: Yifan
By: ShinigamiForever

Her head is bent, and she does not care that she is the last one left,
although everyone is waiting for her fingers and her
pencil to stop moving, up and down, traveling the marked roads of the
paper. She plays with a kneaded eraser that looks as if it has seen
younger and more gentle days.

Desk scattered with notes, scribbled with millions and millions of
angled letters. She writes of history long buried under musty pages,
yet her pen, filled with so much life, brings unseen color to black.

Flying is a dream we all hold to our shoulder blades, but she,
opening locked shutters and allowing sunfilm to seep through the
ripped curtains, she does not want to fly.

She wants instead to soar with butterfly wings and fish fins touched with
early morning sapphire rain. Gentle
colors of rainbow prisms and crystal beams in her eyes.
Rain washed pounded sidewalks smelling of mud and clay as she
encloses herself in angel feathers, silken laughter
tumbled in birdsong. Mother of pearl threaded dreams. A glitch of time
sends some angel as her to land on our earth.