she had a friend who liked to call himself edgar back in high school, and he christened her emily. they used to write poems then. almost every week, they'd pass notes to each other in the hallway in between classes (he was two years ahead).
they became friends because she saw him outside the door and wrote a poem about him. not a love poem, please. it was just one of those impulse verses whenever she had a pen handy. they never talked before she wrote the poem and gave it to him. she still doesn't know what made her do that.
he was the one who introduced Emily Dickinson to her. he said her poems (long lost now) reminded him of Dickinson's poetry. emily didn't really like all of dickinson's stuff, but she thought this described her exactly:
| I ’M nobody! Who are you? |
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| Are you nobody, too? |
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| Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! |
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| They ’d banish us, you know. |
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| How dreary to be somebody! |
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| How public, like a frog |
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| To tell your name the livelong day |
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| To an admiring bog! |
a decade later. Edgar is happily married. If he still writes poems, they're most likely for his wife and baby.
Emily went out into the world. wrote. got hurt. left alone. fell in love. got hurt. went home. alone again. if she still has poems in her, she keeps them to herself. she spends her days writing for others and never feels like going out if she could help it, except to watch the day end.
