FWJ # 7 '...They were only half open and heavy, but her eyelids still made each blink seem effortless. She'd woken up late after the weirdest dream...'
FWJ #6 '.. In the navy room, light from the street lamps frame the curtains, bursting orange and casting shadows across her limbs and curves...'
FWJ #5 '..But in quiet moments his compulsion is not to count. In quiet moments he flicks the tips of each finger on his left hand, as fast as he can...'
FWJ #4 '..A memory of light, and love, and happiness. But that light burned out a long time ago, taking the love with it, and slowly seeping out the happiness, pulling it down into its ash filled crater...'
FWJ #3 '...I look like them but I feel more at home when the sidewalks are filled with a city's silence and dark pockets grow between street lamps and headlights...'
Free Writing Journal #2 '...Straight backed, my briefcase resting on my knees, I feel like my father, can imagine him sitting in the exact same chair after getting exact same call. I was never an easy child. I see me when I look at my boy and it makes me cringe. Which makes me feel guilty. Which makes me try harder to do better for him. Which isn't such a bad thing I guess...'
One word. Thirteen letters. She can feel them cascading, tripping off her tongue as she sounds each syllable. She feels it double into twenty-six years. Feels it fold itself into her being. Comfortable in her discomfort. Face value. Face blind. Facial confusion of her own doing. Knowing not whether to smile, to frown, to turn... Continue Reading →