writing: in her head

In her head, there were wild bright things. She sat in her van with her hand dangling over the wheel and her pale blue eyes raw from crying. She sat there for a long time, Mr. Brightside flickering against the radio static. It was indie alt-rock station; listening to music that wasn't strictly mainstream made… Continue reading writing: in her head

writing: i don’t want to see you ever again

I don't want to see you ever again, he said. She paused; nodded bravely. She was crying. Her hair was hanging in her face and his fingers twitched looking at it, some involuntary memory coming from earlier palm-scented mornings when he would lean over the sheets and brush it behind her ears and kiss her… Continue reading writing: i don’t want to see you ever again

writing: there is only so much a person can take

There is only so much a person can take before they lose themselves. It's a sort of cracking, with the pieces falling away like blood-music, like the skinny feathers you can't hold in your hands with the memories coming like fire and water; it's your mother looking at you in the kitchen and shaking her… Continue reading writing: there is only so much a person can take

writing: mostly, i am made of nothing

Mostly, I am made of nothing. There is a part in life when you realize that, ultimately, you have failed and what you're doing has no point. Religion, ambition--those things matter. But I was standing alone and thinking this and people were streaming past me, and I didn't see where the mattering came into contact… Continue reading writing: mostly, i am made of nothing