Anger surged instantly. Fingers became fists.
Ignorance like that is like using a spoon to eat an apple. It don’t make sense.
Lunging across to take his wind wouldn’t help. Nothing comforted me. Save the tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
Words of hate were forming. They sat ready in the darkness of my throat.
The understanding of grace flickered, and was then pushed aside.
Cobblestones, wax sealed envelopes, words on a page. These are the things that bring me solace.
Well that’s different.
She attacked tonight with more ferocity than normal.
Got something wrong and it’s a game of finding out what that exactly is, it’s always buried somewhere. Skeletons in the closet.
That girl carries too much weight. She’s like the international strong man competition for burdens wrapped into a minuscule blonde-haired-well-kept little package.
The solution I deduced was good hugs. The solution usually is good hugs. And some classy tea coupled with a dead Victorian writer. Of course given that the geographic location was a dive bar with ACDC blaring, there wasn’t any way to salvage the situation.
She needed comfort and I knew it would not be coming from me
So it goes.
He hardly sees himself for what I see. Strip off the skin, the barbed wire around his heart, and you’d see it too.
Days are made of choices. He makes good ones. Not always. But mostly. He doesn’t let dust sit for too long. Always moving.
He’s a man who shows me kindness, kindness that wrecks me. I’m not used to it from men. It feels foreign and electric as it pierces me.
Sad though. That I can’t give him what his heart wants. Pain is not my weapon of choice.
We’ve got good rhythm now, he and I.