I'll miss the way the breeze would blow hair into his eyes, and the way I would brush it away, asking him when he was getting it cut, even though I knew he never would.
I'll miss the way the sun would warm the tops of my breasts when he lifted my shirt over my head, and the way his day-old stubble both hurt and excited me when he bent to suck one nipple, then the other, into his mouth.
I'll miss the way the dried grass felt beneath my bare back when he laid me down and pressed himself...
Once he had left it because absolutely clear that I missed him. Before he had left it wasnt so clear. Not at all. In fact, I had fully expected to breathe a sigh of relief once the door closed and I never had to look at his face again. Once it actually happened it was different. Much different.
It made no sence. Well, maybe it did. I had never been very nice. To him, I mean. The times I had snapped could be counted on my fingers. One two three four five six...
He hadn't left any of those times....
Dressed as a blue cow-like demon, the boy started taking pictures of the wall. The camera was heavy in his small ungloved hands. When he pressed the red button on the top an audible click could be heard and helped persuade him to take as many pictures as quickly as possible to hear that sound in rapid succession.
The camera was his fathers, an old one, one that was locked up until the recent garage sell his mother had. When she got to the box labeled 'Dave's' she sat on it and cried. It was a welcomed moment and she...
It was my "life's work," that's what they call such a thing, but it makes it sound so organised, like my life was something i contolled and I sensibly chose each morning to get up and expend my earthly energies on this tower. "You must have a lot of self-discipline" people say to me when I meet them at parties and we discuss our lives as though we see them clearly, as patterns of behaviour about which we can make broad statements. I try to answer, as best I can, saying something appropriately self-effacing.
What I'd like to tell them...
It was within reach.
She just had to keep walking.
The key was to never stop.
Her heart was beating.
Her breath caught in her throat and she choked back a sob.
It had to be here.
Her arms were outstretched as she fumbled through the forest, moving as quickly as she dared over the treacherous ground.
Her shoulders shook as a her fear racked her whole body.
Her back stayed straight and her chin stayed strong, even as her spirit faltered.
They would not have lied to her surely.
They wouldn't have been that cruel.
They couldn't have been....
She'd always come running when I called. I forgot myself at one point, and went to call her name, which made me feel even more isolated. It was so strange to be up on our hill alone.
A bitter wind whistled around the crest of the hill. I tugged my scarf tighter around my neck and wished I had worn a hat. It was so cold. Far too cold for a morning in March.
As I looked to the tiny ant-like people walking along the river bank below, the scene misted up before my eyes. It was not the same...
He set the plate before her. He knew she wasn't hungry but he did it anyway. She didn't mind because she knew he went to a lot of trouble to put this dinner together. She always did all the cooking, he always did nothing. This time he put in some effort and she wanted to reward.
After thinking a moment while simultaneously offering idle, akward conversation, she realized, No, she didn't want this. She always did the cooking because she liked doing. he did this cooking because he felt obligated to. As if somehow performing a task traditionally done by...
then it picked up, it picked up like the coming of an ocean born storm. Not a movement in the air; a few dark clouds separate. Aeros licks your face, sending a chill down your spine right to your sacrum, right down into the earth: grounded. Crystalized. Everything becomes clear yet remains fractal. You sat down next to me. Your thick accent warming me up on this cold afternoon. But your not present, your a another world away, its probably the middle of the night. Maybe your enjoying a midnight snack.. maybe your thinking of me too. And maybe the...
He didn't know that yesterday was the last day he would see her. He had no doubts about the marriage, but he knew that his life would change in a way he wasn't sure he was ready for. He couldn't live without her; he knew that. He couldn't go a day without hearing her laugh or seeing her smile-her smile that made her eyes twinkle and her dimples flash. He thought about how much he loved her smell. Whether it was the smell of her herbal shampoo, the smell of her sweet sweat after she got back from running, the...
Dear friends:
I am standing in the field. The field where he died. The field where, for a time, I wished I had died. Sometimes still do.
This photo he took of the field was humbling. Ground-level. Weeds blowing. A branch sticking up. Forked. On that day he was forked. And I was blown. Blown flat.
Shit, guys, that sounds so dumb, doesn't it. I meant to write it on a postcard. I meant to get this photo printed -- Snapfish or something -- and have them sent to me glossy. And get one of those fine Sharpies and scribble...