poetry
But seriously, I've been riding that high since I saw her in concert. ...maybe I should write about that. Meanwhile, a poem. floating, almost I want to feel that again, The wonderful ache in my heart To mirror floating through water Into a dream of not-home-anymore
Journal (UnCat)
This still counts if I post it on the very last day of October. Happy Halloween. I was hesitant to post this. Depression is a bitch. Whether it's pure coincidence, metaphysical weirdness, brain chemistry, or yet another example of my moral failings, the roughest time of the year
slice of life
CONTENT WARNING: death, death mention This weekend, I saw someone die on the shore. The asterisk: it was very likely they died on the shore. But I hope they didn't. I was distracted-- trying not to lose the hat I borrowed-- when my partner noted a crowd gathering
slice of life
Like a lot of people, I've been in what's been called "Survivor Mode." You do enough to get through the day, most times by any means available to you. I feel like I have been doing that since I graduated college. Now, this happened
poetry
On the shores of roped-off swimming spots I remember you from all the pens I never collected the contrast from the blue houses Complimenting the white trim I write in red tint Now more honorable, more informed I could have been On those still nights Beautiful with you I
Journal (UnCat)
Note: Please be aware that I am doing a lot better now! This was just so... raw... that I felt compelled to post it here. So I realized an uncomfortable truth over the weekend, while we were off doing our own things-- and I did mine, and it was great;
slice of life
Do you ever think about The books you left behind? Every time you moved-- and then-- The very first move was an adventure to something greater. Our first real house, with a garage and and attic and my own room. The move after that, a grander adventure away from home.
slice of life
My grandmother was dying when I penned this post. There is a lot of what my mother bitterly calls it, drama, concerning the surrounding circumstances. But most of it is not important; what matters at this moment is how she does not want any of this drama when the time
poetry
I can't find her on Facebook anymore. She hasn't updated her blog or Twitter. She never answered my WhatsApp message. I think she is gone. I haven't said goodbye in over 15 years. And I don't know how to feel about this.
slice of life
I was on vacation last week. Before, I made plans: to fix things around the house we've been putting off, to play video games, to talk to people, and to write. Before and during, I also focused on making my space feel more like "me." That
slice of life
"Whoa," I said, sitting up a little as the credits rolled. "I haven't heard that in forever." "What song is it?" he asked, shifting under my head. We had been binging Jojo's Bizarre Adventure for two hours and Netflix'
throwback thursday
Throwback Thursday: a note on Feb 5, 2018. Fang: [Vanille]'s a crybaby, though! She cries as soon as she gets lonely or insecure. But if I stroke her head, she stops as if nothing is wrong. Lebreau: In that case, you’ll need to find her quickly and
Raintree Ruckus
Was bitten by the Harriet the Spy writing journaling craze, hopped on the Internet, and never left.
https://raintreeruckus.com
