I missed her
like a hungry fisherman
misses the roar of the ocean,
like a caged bird
misses the view of the mountaintop,
and how a set of lungs
search for air
when you never learned how to swim.
About the Creator
MD
I am a poet and writer, entwined in passionate embrace with souls of poets, penning love letters to their words.
If you love my poets give a like, leave comments and share them with love. Don't forget to subscribe to my profile.
Thank you!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
The Seventh Step
“It’s a different room every time. Sometimes it’s my grandma’s house from when I was little. Sometimes it’s my college apartment. Sometimes it’s somewhere unfamiliar, but always there are the stairs. I know I have to go up, but I’m afraid. I can feel my heart pounding and I feel sick, but I don’t know why. It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I start up the stairs, and I’m thinking ‘No, stop!’ but I just keep going. When I get a ways up, I try to take another step but, instead, I fall backwards. I can feel myself in the air, just in a panic, nothing to hold on to and no way to stop, just falling, falling, falling until THUMP! And then I wake up.”
By Megan Malcolm7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.