That Feeling You Get When You Leave Your Window Open At Night_The Traveling Rock_The Gardener's
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That Feeling You Get When You Leave Your Window Open At Night
It is one of those long, hot, sleepless nights in the middle of August. The kind where you feel like the sun is still up and with no AC it feels like it might just be inside your bedroom. It is one of those nights where you feel like you have to open your window the one with no screen, you know, because the fan is simply not cutting it. You know that there are bugs out there, but at this point who cares? Right?So, you open the window. It feels so nice for the first few minutes that you actually start to drift back to blissful darkness when you feel the patter of tiny feet on the back of your ...
The Traveling Rock
You hold me in your hand glaring and about to throw me. I may be a small pebble but I was once big. Some people think that small things are really annoying. Me, I think it might be an easier way to move around. I didn’t mean to hurt your foot, I just needed a ride to explore. I like to move around and see different things. I used to think staying in one spot was the thing to do but now I want to know what www.onedoor.ccall there is out there. My only problem is that everywhere I go I leave a piece of me behind.Before I was in your hand getting ready to be tossed, I was in your shoe. It was nice and warm. I ...
The Gardener's Wife
Once there was a gardener who made a vow to his wife that he would rip up all the wild honeysuckle to make picturesque paths under the grand maples, apples, oaks, and pines. He vowed to clear the garden beds of dandelions, thorny thistle, and rag weed, and replace them with roses, lilies, and irises in every color and variety. The gardener’s wife joined him at the beginning since she enjoyed beautiful things and being outside with her husband in the fresh air. The garden was coming along well and the couple enjoyed their work. They both sat and drank coffee on their mornings of leisure and di...
Reflections
It’s almost poetic when the lights of my dorm flicker and finally dim, casting my room into the inevitable hungriness of the March night. I can’t react. Maybe Alina, my roommate, would curse at the power outage (the third this week, what with all the spring thunderstorms). My mom would grab me a flashlight and some blankets. Ben’s ghost arms wrap around me in a comforting hug, and the light from my laptop glows faintly in the empty room. Ben isn’t here. No one is. It’s just me and my thoughts. I glance back at my laptop, the full-sized screenshot of a text conversation glaring me in the fac...