Father. Husband. Aspiring fiction writer. Observer of life.
If walls could talk, would anyone even want to know what I have to say? Not these two, that’s for sure. They wouldn’t care. Mr. and Mrs. Millennial, waltzing through here like they already own the place.
By Sawyer Kuhlabout a year ago in Fiction
I searched. Then searched some more. Exquisite perfection. Smooth and clean. It eluded me while others succeeded. Just out of reach.
By Sawyer Kuhlabout a year ago in Poets
They want me to write about an unlikely pair that meets on an island," Eve said into her phone after touching the accept call icon.
“Please,” she gurgled. “Please,” “Let me touch dirt, breathe again.” The vast sea said “No.”
Burn it, she crackled. Combustion. Bright, consuming. Licking. Melting. Gone.