I write a story,

My mind coming up with thoughts,

Stitching them all together,

Putting together the individual sheets.

I write the story,

Finally giving a home,

To all the orphaned objects in my mind,

Binding the papers into signatures.

I write the story,

My mind reaching far and wide,

Connecting distant ports,

Binding the signatures with thread.

Or does the story write me?

Each word I write,

Changing the lattice of my mind,

Binding the finished book with a hard cover

~thryaksha