It didn’t matter their every difference, they always loved the same.
And it was like it always had been: warm, calculated, and marvellous.
Partial footprints in the snow, a furrowed brow. He could recognize her anywhere.
I start orientation at UBC tomorrow. I don’t remember the last time I had such fierce first day jitters. I was telling a friend today how I’ve been feeling with starting over, having no source of comfort, feeling unsure and uneasy. He is married, has been living in the same place for three years, has had his job for four, but he spent much of his early-late twenties travelling and moving around a lot. He loves his life and wouldn’t trade it for anything, and he said “I miss that feeling.”
I’m reminded, once again, how cool this is. I’ve got opportunities galore and I can do whatever I want. That’s pretty rad. I’m nervous, I can’t help that. But I’m excited, too. Wish me luck!
She was the pea pod on the kitchen counter, waiting to be split open.
She knows loneliness intimately. Like ice knows the mountains, like the deer knows the tick.
I miss my home a lot. I miss my family. My parents, my nephew, my sisters/best friends. I know these days will come and go, as they always have, but I just have a particular ache today.
I just wrote the 16-word piece of flash (my 132nd story). My classes don’t start for another ten days, but the countdown was supposed to have ended yesterday, since I started this project counting down to September 1. So, I have missed 16 days.
At the start of this project I did so well, making sure not to miss a day for anything (and that was when my word count was much higher). But, in the hundred or so days between when this started to now, a lot has happened. I lost a friend of mine to suicide. I lost my partner of five years to, well actually, I’m not really sure. I just lost him. With that loss, my entire plan concerning the next two years of my life (specifically, my move to Vancouver) was altered.
Brushing teardrops off the stranger’s cheek, he remembered her. Purple-lipped. Sharp-tongued. Sticky backs pressed against grass.
I may have cheated by hyphenating sharp tongued, but I don’t care because I REALLY wanted to keep it. I make my own rules.
I walk down nameless streets and wonder which raindrop has passed between the blue mountain clouds. Envious.
It’s in the cold and quiet mornings that I see you: a tall shadow, wiry hair, always smiling.
It was only love you wanted, and the neck of the spun bottle just happened to point at me.