She is folded into my mind, sleeping.
“Wake up!” I beg her. “Help me. These are your words. This story is yours. I can not alter it without your voice. Without your vision. It’s unnatural. It’s disrespectful. It’s not mine.”
She stirs, reluctant. “I don’t belong. I made a mess of things and left . My naivete makes me dangerous.”
I counter: “Your naivete makes you charming.”
“Don’t! You’ll regret it when I start demanding time. I won’t be any less innocent. I promise you.”
“Please! I need you.”
Timidly, childlike, she peers out and takes a look at the screen....