Fire crackles in my heart, autumn leaves crushing beneath_Heartstrings_Father and son_In the Rearvie
Catalog Guide:
Fire crackles in my heart, autumn leaves crushing beneath
You make small circles and cross them out on the window. It's foggy and you love playing with the vapors. The warm breath blurs the view again and you continue. But there is something deep in your heart that pinches you. why! You clench your fists. Why would you love a murderer!! You wish you could pull out the soul and throw it away, it makes you angry. Angry or … upset? You don’t know. Maybe you don’t want to. Then you swirl around and return back to the cozy corner near the fireplace. Thunderstorms and it rains heavily as you feel yourself sink deep in the softness of the comfy chair. If on...
Heartstrings
Isn't it lovely when you can finally reap the rewards of hard work? Isn't it lovely when, after a period of perseverance, discipline, and doing of something mentally or physically exhausting, you can appreciate your efforts as well as yourself? Isn't it lovely to be able to think, "I did this. I am amazing."? They're rhetorical questions, really; of course, it's great to feel proud of yourself. People are so often consumed by self-doubt and loss of sense of purpose that they forget that a passion, a project, or even a person can bring them back to life. There was a time in my life where I was...
Father and son
Paul put down the book on the small mahogany side table and looked up to see his father nodding off, nestled in his window seat. The street behind him had progressively gone dark as Paul had read to him, but as the winter sunlight had relinquished its hold on the day, the lights of humanity had one by one asserted their right on the night. First, the antique shop opposite — which was always so dark to start with — then the café, with its door opening and closing to the rhythm of its customers and letting out a waft of warm, voluptuous, sweet-scented air, testament to the skilled baker that hau...
In the Rearview Mirror
“Two bedrooms, two bathroomwww.onedoor.ccs.” Brian gestured down the hallway like he had many times before, but this time, he knew the walls were listening with their pierced ears. His client massaged her floral handkerchief between dough-soft thumbs. “1,400 square feet.” She ran her free hand along the walls and noticed they felt like peeling bark during a heatwave. Her fingers dipped into every dent and slipped along every curve. “In a nice neighborhood. It seems perfect for you,” Brian admitted, tapping his short nails against the clipboard until his nail beds throbbed. The woman, Mrs. Dubois, shook lik...