Ophelia Hamilton
Stories (2/0)
Dead Space
I reach out my hands, desperately clawing at the air in between separated cities, trying to grab a hold of the iron string holding us together. Maybe if I can feel it, touch it, it will feel like you. Maybe I could pull it until you crashed into me. Maybe I’ll have something to hold that reminds me you’re still here.
By Ophelia Hamilton6 years ago in Poets
For the Love of Passion
The sound of their voices echoed off the red painted walls and golden carved ceiling of the theater. I watched Laurie and Jim finish their scene; I always loved watching the way her 1940s style red skirt would move as she floated across the stage. It was opening night of my first ever stage performance. I was ten years old playing Susan Waverly in Miracle on 34th Street, my stomach erupting in butterflies as I waited in the wings.
By Ophelia Hamilton6 years ago in Beat