I used to say that I love the beginnings of things. The fresh start. The briskness of possibility that always smelt faintly of coffee to me, or shampoo, or perhaps the first day that winter starts to smell green. I would say that the middle is where you get bogged down in too many roads … Continue reading Of Bravery and the Beginning
Tag: writing
This Feeling I Name
It is not longing that I feel. Longing has such a round and gentle flavour. Like the melancholy of children who can enjoy the sad because they have not yet fought for the happy And lost? Perhaps, Perhaps I have. It is not seeking that I taste. That word is far too alive for the … Continue reading This Feeling I Name
The Wind Whistler
She leaned against me; her fine hair caught briefly but she tugged it free with a sharp twist of her head. I could feel the weariness in her body as she slumped down to the ground. Something else, too. Suddenly, she seized a pine cone out of the dirt and hurled it away. It disappeared … Continue reading The Wind Whistler
He Had This Way
He had this way of holding my hand when we were out walking at night. The press of people would force us to go single file and he would bend his arm behind his back, holding my hand against him, never letting go, never losing me in the crowd. He had this way of introducing … Continue reading He Had This Way
Gray Morning
There are times, in the eerie hours of the morning when the birds are awake but the sun is yet the slightest lightening from dark to gray, I hear breath breathing beside me. The murmur of an inhale a moment before my own, the faintest drift of air on the back of my neck. In … Continue reading Gray Morning
Six Cartons
I didn’t notice the days go. Not really. I drifted, in those days. The time was a blur and I measured it by the ache in my chest but I couldn’t say how long it was before the ache was less and then gone. Not gone, more like the memory of pain than the pain … Continue reading Six Cartons
Gosh Darn Sunlight 