literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Whiskey, Wine, And All That Jazz
“I’m telling ya boy we ‘as sittin’ right der in dat corner booth eatin’ ‘an I seent it wit ma’ own two eyes!” His big calloused hands waved toward the booth nearest the kitchen doors and flailed wildly at the bar where Antanios Hanna was currently enjoying a glass of bourbon and the ambiance.
By Jason Vowell5 years ago in Humans
The Glass Before Me
He’s supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be drinking this Merlot by myself. Three months ago, we talked about this night for hours over text. We planned out every detail of this perfect date. Our first date—our first “real” date—after quarantine ended and restaurants reopened. We talked about sitting in this classic Italian restaurant together, how we loved the vines that crept up the brick and stucco walls. We’d sit on the patio with the golden lights hanging overhead. The light would shine in his perfect eyes. He’d take my hand in his. His hand would fit mine perfectly. It always did.
By Emma Laurens5 years ago in Humans
A Memorable Bottle at Chez Lily
Raindrops pelted the roof of the small Brooklyn restaurant like the fingers of a nervous typist. Victor could hear cars outside rushing by in what was temporarily the 7th Avenue river. The prospect of filling any of the twenty tables at Chez Lily seemed dim at this hour, and he decided to send his one waitress and the chef home for the night.
By Ilya Gofman5 years ago in Humans
The Glass of Confidence
There he was, where he always is. I sit at this bench, day after day, writing, or sometimes pretending to, wondering what he's doing, or also pretending to. He sits there for hours. Watching people walk by, throw a ball with their dogs, fly a kite with their children, and eventually looks up. He stares up into the sky with a feeling of relief rushing over him. He's always adequately dressed but laughs and joins in with the games children play around the park that sits nearby. There's a leather-bound book on his lap, clasped in his hand. He never once opens it, and it makes me wonder if there's anything in fact inside of it. He could be a visual artist. The book's pages are filled with wonderfully depicted illustrations of his day-to-day life. He could be a writer, like me.
By Joannis Rodon5 years ago in Humans
Glasses of Merlot
Cole Davies Glasses of Merlot Dolor was a well-kept man—kept to himself that is. He spent virtually all his time perfecting his craft. After 14 intense years of training, considering, and testing, he earned the title of Doctor—Doctor of Literature—a lofty goal he set for himself at the ripe age of 14, following the completion of a required reading book in the 9th grade, a fantasy about a boy named Milo. But now, he was a teacher.
By Cole Davies5 years ago in Humans
Picture Perfect
Jane waited in fearful expectation, staring at her computer screen. She glanced once more around the room, especially at the bookcase behind her. It had taken her hours to perfect the bookcase: to arrange the books so it would reflect how she was a person of interest and in no way weird. Just the correct number of mementos from holidays abroad and her favourite picture of Toby. Why had he left her? She so missed their long walks together. This time in Lockdown would have been perfect, had he still been alive. They could have used the time she wasn’t wasting, commuting to work, to go on longer walks so he could have had more treats. Maybe, she thought, it was all those treats that had killed him. Either that or old age!
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Humans
Stars and Secrets
Lucy stared up at the stars. She had received an encoded message that morning that she would have to go soon. She hadn’t made any real friends this time so she had told herself it wouldn’t be hard to leave the people, but she was going to miss this view. The mountains, stars, and the warmth of the small town, which she supposed came from the people.
By Katie Altman5 years ago in Humans
