Somewhere amongst the detritus of my younger days—the moldering books, the broken music-box, the worn-out dancing shoes—is a letter that contains your signature and a broken promise. Our entire history could be read in its creases and ragged edges, if I cared to find it.
Coach M was intense. The football guys loved him. “Do you believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior?” His fist pounded on the passenger window like a hammer pounding nails. My hands tightened on the wheel. “Sure," I said, praying I'd make it out of the car. [Yeah, so I forgot to add this … Continue reading Driver’s Ed
Her kisses are light: all heat and smoke. She trails them like promises across my skin, each one an ember that quickly turns to ash. She is a candle, a hearth fire, a beacon; I am the one who burns.
I want to wake up with your handprint on my hip and your perfume in my hair. I want to be haunted by your touch. Every breath of wind could be an unexpected caress: phantom kisses against my skin.
Sometimes, we forget our words. Sometimes, we don’t remember how to mourn. Silence stands between us, a leviathan of unspoken grief. We linger in its shadow, waiting for the delicate whisper of rain.