Tag Archives: grief
What It's Like
Something is rising up, a tide of sick that never crests at the throat, never crosses the tongue, is never allowed out. It swells and swells, a gorge that threatens but refuses to be purged. It lifts heavy chains, anxiety, … Continue reading
Recognizable
The ferocity of the slap rocked her head back; she resettled her stance and lifted her chin, defiant, navy eyes staring him down. “That all you got?” she wondered, and the curve of her lips twisted into a challenging smirk. … Continue reading
Reach
Drowning. Going down. The last light in the top of the world going out. Reaching up, one hand, fingertips slipping below the surface. Away, away, remembering the taste of laughter.
To Taste Starlight
You hold me each time when we decide as we decide to go in the fashion we choose. I twine my fingers with yours and we tell one another stories of threadbare memory, trying to keep alive ages long past, … Continue reading
Before I forget
Before I forget, let me say that I occasionally want to reach through the nothing but time, distance, air, electrons that separate us, and grab hold of you by the throat. I want to pull you back to me, and … Continue reading