Not Safe For Work
It is a Tuesday and on Tuesdays I feel like dying. Not to be dramatic, really, people would describe me as anything but that. Morbid, maybe. That makes more sense.
Stories I'll Tell When I See You Again
I swear I could see icicles on your eyelashes, a raindrop hanging off the tip of your nose. It was a cold morning when you flew into the bakery, the bells on the door chiming like leaves whispering of an approaching storm. Beneath your pale skin were bright eyes, the promise of warmth. Then you smiled that James Dean smile and my stomach fell to the floor. In the blur, you asked about the smell in the air and I replied chocolate croissants and almond torte. You walked closer and I blushed. It was a day I will never forget; Thursday, April 2, 1964.
- First Place in Little Black Book Challenge
The Delicate Art of Counting to Three
It’s a remarkable balance, keeping oneself together in this brittle thing we call life. Honestly, it’s a miracle I hold myself together at all, but I try my best. It’s just that my best consists of exhausting, tireless repetition, repeated in threes, to simply, hopefully, make life alright.