I brown bagged all the things and stuff you left behind: a broken black comb, your spare toothbrush (the blue one I bought from Target late, when I wasn’t sure you were coming home). Small memories with each– now no reason to recall, no need to save stuff at all.
Scientific books say pyroclastic surges froze the Pompeiians, consumed their bodies, leaving only shells, hollows. So it is with us. When you look at me, I become still as marble, but desire chars any attempted restraint.
Oh you foolish E’s! For you, romance is surface, so easily visible. For us I’s, love is a deeply hidden cave stream running swift, unseen. Wound us, we ache to the core, though the landscape’s calm. Underground, the pressure builds until, at last, steam erupts. And this why you shouldn’t MBTI and choka.
With ease she laid these bricks lying between us. The path runs straight from house to tree. The string along which she set the pavers hummed as she brushed it, but the course stayed true. One end of the guide was screwed deep to the house’s foundation; the other, sunk solidly into the ground. She’d [...]
Boundaries are good things. I’m trying to see where I can let you go. You’re very close, closer than I’d dared to dream, but I don’t think you realize how near you are. Today, the flood broke loose, washed me out. I had to close the door against it. Found my feet, and stood again, [...]
