I wanted our first date to end at midnight but he didn’t leave until 2.
All tagged night
I wanted our first date to end at midnight but he didn’t leave until 2.
My moon-drunk eyes followed the shining black line of water up the canyon, across massive cliffs, and into the endless sky.
Remember when our dreams were simply slips of paper, scrawled in minutes, torn with careless confidence, and tacked to beams that crossed through darkness overhead in the attic above your room?
I have been afraid of water since I was six.
A baby’s crying woke me up at midnight.
The only sound I remember was the hiss of the camp stove with the smoke-stained bottom holding the aluminum pot as we waited for water to boil.
Little fingertips prod my eyelids, scouting before the assault.
We huddled together, silent, as we tiptoed past tombstones and stumbled over crumbling stone walls, the moon our lone guiding light.
The rain had been incessant and biblical for days and weeks and nearing a month.
I can smell the acrid headiness of danger in the disinfectant-laden air. It cloys at my uvula before entering my lungs to catch on my breath.
I was alone, always alone now, and when the doorbell rang I went to answer it. I’d been expecting him but only found the emptiness of the dark night outside.
I ventured in my thoughts to wild places, making promises to myself I knew wouldn’t see the light of day and yet, in that moment, I believed in.
Her eyes, heavy with fatigue, tell her it’s time for bed, but Inspiration becomes her caffeine, her alarm clock telling her it’s time to write.