Writing for the withered and worthy soul. Based in Texas. Matching digital works to digital words.
A Good Man
“Mama?” Vivian’s voice chirped along the yellow walls, to the kitchen, where a woman finished loading wet dishes onto the drying rack. The drip of the water bells plopped lightly against the soap bath as the front door closed. And the moment a whisper of familiar auburn curls swayed into the living room, it set a smile over Mama’s face.
He is looking at me like he doesn't recognize me. Maybe it is my body, maybe it is my hair, maybe it is these clothes hugging my skin. Maybe it is the way my eyes no longer shatter every time his voice calls my name. And this, is something unfamiliar to him. I watch him watch me. He says nothing because that is all he knows, silence. But I want to say something. I want to say everything. Because it is what I have wanted to needed to craved to do for so long, and for the first time, he's listening.
do you remember what it felt like last September, when winter came too quickly? the wind was sneaky and the cold crept into our room while we were sleeping and neither of us were ready for it. you, safe and sound, on top of the sheets. my body bare, exposed. i woke up and you didn’t, but I was immensely unprepared for the feeling of your arms