Standing in the chill Of stone cold ruins Of something once beautiful Something once strong That now exists only in dreams And memories of times past Is a man It’s difficult to say When things began to crumble When the frescoes peeled away With drops from the leaky roof And when the contents of the … Continue reading Stained Glass Window
He grimaced at the tender insight and piercing way she seemed to always know and to speak the truth, and it was equal parts liberating and terrifying to own what his life was. ⁂ Sammie Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt Use the word “grimace” and write a piece of poetry or prose in exactly 33 words. Continue reading Grimace
She was bubbling inside, from excitement or anxiety, she could’t tell, but she could’t contain herself. Every time he reached out she felt a tingle creep up her spine. Waiting for him to make up his mind was… *sigh* Nevertheless, she was a teapot and he her cozy. ⁂ Sammie Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt Use … Continue reading Teapot
He was a vintage soul. The kind of man to carry a handkerchief and to pull out chairs… And she adored him. ⁂ Sammie Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt Use the word “vintage” and write a piece of poetry or prose in exactly 22 words. Continue reading Vintage
Her heart was a web of delicate and seemingly contradictory idiosyncrasies, some brought into being out of necessity and others present having always been there, carefully hidden and tucked away for far too long for all the wrong reasons. There was the he who had always built her up relentlessly before purposefully tumbling her from … Continue reading Delicate
Two years ago, I wrote a little piece about how lovely it is to let dead things go. It was late October and the weather at the foot of the Rockies had turned cold, wet, and windy. I’d been married to and living with a man who had, at first, seemed to be everything good … Continue reading Lovely Death
I never gave a thought to a midlife crisis being an actual thing until I found myself firmly in the throes of what certainly fits the bill and feeling rather like a ship lost at sea… Rudderless, with no sail or motor to drive me forward from the tempest, occasionally finding myself skirting the edges … Continue reading “The Alchemist” ⁂ Modern Classics
