First thing she said was “hi,
“don’t tell me you love me”
then
“you should have kissed me by now.”
He smiled
and knew she meant to be
dramatic
nervous
irritated with morning traffic
and talk radio,
he knew
she would be forever
imprinted in his memory.
She didn’t have to say
a word
enough of fucking words already, he thought
“just don’t talk”
he said
and opened up his arms
like an old friend
she hadn’t seen
in years.
Photo by bird.ee on Instagram
helpful writer ramblings from a disturbed mind just like yours
The Diary of a Late-Blooming Romantic.
In the kingdom of life, with the strokes of the brush, the bow and the pen, artists have sowed their hearts to contrive, fields rivalling in beauty the Garden of Eden.
the darker the heart, the deeper the poetry runs
"For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” —Catherine Drinker Bowen
GRACE FOR PURPOSE
"A word after a word after a word is power" Margaret Atwood
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Toronto Feminist Micro Press
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Twitter @GalyaVarna
Because I have a lot to say ♨
I love this, Christina. So good. ♡
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found it in a notebook thank you x
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Nice work. You found this in a notebook. You probably throw away stuff that others would cling to as their gems.
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I never throw away my notebooks, they’re piled up in my closet, in chests, under clothes, secret stash! I told my husband he has to bury me with them (dead serious) lol.
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Said the same to my wife. Bury me with all my work. They are a part of us. Weird aren’t we?
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definitely odd
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lol
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