me

January 4, 2015

Fiction

I don’t know how to write about missing you. Rain falls from the mists of heaven, slinking through the air, refusing to gaze upon the ground. All the while the earth rises towards the mist without hope of reaching the rays shining upon it. We live in-between these places of ground and air. Hoping to
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December 9, 2014

about you

I spent the majority of yesterday sitting on trains, looking at people’s hands. Never, had the golden bands, slipped around fleshy fingers, stood out to me the way they did that day. It was like I had found Waldo and my eyes couldn’t look away. Never, had I noticed the way human hands react to sound,
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