inspiration for storytelling, learning, and creating
She took one look at him and said
Better luck next time, son.
A bright blue bouncy ball
Won't cover that loss.
Winter's coming on fast, fast
Better plant a rosebush before it's too late.
I think they deserve some credit.
Not every truth recommends itself.
Fewer and fewer pigeons
Visit us each year.
But walking on a railroad
Makes everything seem small.
"Ian?"
"Mm?"
"Are we gonna get married?"
"Do you want to?"
"Do you?"
"I want whatever you want."
"Say that now, but that'll all change after marriage."
"Says who?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because I know me. And I know you."
"What do you know about us?"
"I didn't say I knew anything about us. I know about me and I know about you. Us is different."
"What do you know about me and you?"
"I know that I am selfish. And I know that you are stubborn. And you won't always want what I want. Especially if you're supposed to."
"Mm. Well you know what I know about us?"
"What?"
"We need each other."
"You're saying its not a choice."
"I'm saying it was a choice to walk into that bookstore that Wednesday afternoon, but then the freedom was over."
"It was a Tuesday."
"It was any day. It was every day from birth until we met. It was freedom until we met and shackled ourselves to each other."
"And wedding bands are a bit like chains?"
"A bit."
"Golden shackles."
"With diamonds."
"I do like things that glitter."
"You do."
..."I do."
The November wind was springy that day,
A trampoline among cranky bah-humbugs.
Salt and pepper danced and danced and danced,
And we felt we'd never die, because surely this was Heaven.
The forks were the first to notice it, clattering
Like agitated cattle before electricity and bellows.
The glasses surely noticed it too, for they fell
thud! against the mahogany like beheaded lumber in the woods.
That made the knives still.
It made everything still.
The chairs shifted expectantly toward the doorway,
A pious congregation with brimstone in mind and dread in heart.
Even the napkins hushed their white fluttering, swans
Folding their wings awkwardly, interrupted mid-landing.
The plates lay silent without chattering forks,
For wordless bookworms sit emptily in corners.
The steaming turkey shivered and sneezed,
A puppy dumped on the side of the freeway.
All turned.
All waited.
It was a Thursday, or would've been if
That kind of a day could be put on a calendar.
The table must've forgotten about us,
Because good servants never disobey good masters.
Not that it matters now.
Not that anything mattered then.
She didn't make it.
I looked in the mirror
and saw my enemies
staring back at me.
And I was inside of them.
They must've swallowed me up.
Had I let them?
Had I even put up a fight?
Something
tells me I hadn't.
Maybe it's a memory.
"Now is not the time for weakness. You must press onward as battle-tested warriors and defeat the enemy."
I stare
up into the
twig splattered
patch of sky—
here
it's all buildings
and trees
but that's not why
you can't see the stars—
and try to cry.
Or maybe just to cry out.
I open
a fresh document
and start typing.
Before I know it,
I've typed myself
off the page.
Funny
how I always think that
prayer answers
will come fast and sharp
like a gust of fresh wind
or maybe a whip.
Funny
how it's always
so soft and silent
I don't even notice it
until I've almost
forgotten.
My life
happens so gradually
I don't even notice it.
But today I notice.
And that was the day
I finally saw
the green
in my eyes,
and I remembered
who I was.
It was a silly notion,
thinking
the green
had crisped to brown
like leaves,
but forever.
Green doesn't just
disappear
completely.
But then,
with the end of the world
so near
it didn't seem
altogether
impossible.
But no.
It was really
there.
It hadn't been swallowed
up
by the rotting
brown decay
laying siege to it.
It was there,
clear as ever
if you only
looked.
If you only
used
the right kind of
Light.
"Now is not the time to back down,"
he says. "Now is the time to slay the enemy. Don't give up the battle."
I stare out the window
and the misery of it all
trickles through my veins.
Paralyzing ice.
I'm dying.
No. I will not end this way.
Come ON, Katelyn,
he's speaking your language!
I realize that hopelessness creeping in is not the same as
Hope creeping out.
I still have hope.
I still have fight in me.
Deep.
Deep, but there.
This is a battle.
Pick up your sword.