Lauren Millar
Bio
If it's creative, I'm there.
Stories (4/0)
Spooksville
It’s not Halloween if you’re not dancing! Doesn’t matter if you’re grooving in your living room, if your in a makeshift dungeon (that’s actually your friends basement) or an actual night club in Berlin- if the music isn’t right you’re not having a good time! Holiday events already have enough pressure on them to be something, but really it comes down to the music and the lighting set up. The darker the better.
By Lauren Millar3 years ago in Beat
Better Views
I sat in the Hudson River like it was kiddy-pool, my celestial head leaning into the palm of my hand staring at Manhattan like I was playing chess. My eyes flicked from building to building; looking, searching, unable to locate whatever it was that was calling me. There is something here, I can feel it soaking into my bones, speaking to my senses, begging me to listen. I cock my head to the left, my gut filling up with warmth as I stick my hand beneath the island. My fingers sink into murky sediments, I feel the land deep in my being, familiar as my mother’s arms. An ancient energy, as old as me.
By Lauren Millar3 years ago in Psyche
Sing Into My Mouth
"I get tired of waiting too, but unlike you, I’m not tempted.” Dev held my stare for so long I was terrified I’d have to repeat myself, something I didn’t know if I could do with a steady voice again. He somehow always did the last thing I expected. This time his stare turned inward, his eyes swam with tears, and his shoulders deflated. I knew what was coming, I could feel it. He was not okay anymore, whatever we were, was pulverizing him. His olive skin had dulled, his hair seemed greasy, his voice was raspier than normal. His internal turmoil was leaving its mark on him.
By Lauren Millar3 years ago in Fiction
Drink the Rain
Some things heat the fans of our hearts, like dark hair under moonlight, other’s turn warmth to cool stone. That was an old saying, something my grandmother’s grandmother would repeat under her breath as she tended to her garden. Whispering to the dirt in case something was listening.
By Lauren Millar3 years ago in Fiction