the po~et 6 (falls canvas)

The Valley is beautiful this time of the year. The summer's dry weather has produced a masterful array of colors lining the road way like a canvas. It's now mid-term and he hadn't been able to escape the feelings that he has begun to have for her. At night her almond colored skin is all he can envision when his eyes close and when his head recesses to his pillow he imagines himself whispering good night to her.

During class he walks by her constantly forcing her to notice him. Sometimes he forgets that he's lecturing before the class and looks as if he is only speaking to her. She becomes the only person on earth, the only person he is concerned with, the only person he believes could understand him.

He had concluded that when he graded her work. He was impressed with her abilities, but almost reluctant to believe it possible. Not questioning her skills but rather the way she spoke to him through the words. She understood how to use language. How to use it to express what the mouth too common to deliver. Printed words that will survive when everything else around it has become extinct. Words that will live and breathe each time someone reads them. She knew it, and he knew that she knew it. It was with this discovery that he realized that he had willed her to him and she had come.