Lipstick
‘Yeah, well… boys will be boys,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you shouldn’t read anything into it.’
Continue readingWriting & Other Things
‘Yeah, well… boys will be boys,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you shouldn’t read anything into it.’
Continue readingAt seven forty-five the car will bleep with a flash of orange lights, followed by the front door opening. Two girls, young still, will stumble out onto the driveway, while behind, their mother, laden with school bags and harried – though not dishevelled, she is never dishevelled – will fumble with the keys and shout, ‘You guys belt up in there, okay?’
Continue readingThey cling to the branches a little longer this year, and it takes a second storm to scatter them. One rainy morning she rakes them into a pile, and the loamy smell sparks a memory. Abby’s voice caught in the drizzle.
“I never know if this is the beginning or the end.”
‘Cumulospiration,’ he said, and watched as she stretched out her hand and tried to grasp it. A small sigh as it vanished.
‘Gone,’ she said. And he shared her disappointment.
Continue readingI drew a line of my own, but did not tell you. It followed the contours and undulations of your steadfast delineation. Rising and falling in parallel. Stretching forward to the horizon, to a point where the world falls beyond reach.
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