What it felt like then and other stories

There were things we wanted then that didn’t seem ridiculous.

Coffee without the grinds. Ice water just before it turns cool leaving wet rings that soak into the wood. We didn’t need the bad with the good, the good was enough, it was plenty. Maybe it was naive to think we could section off our emotions, corner our dislikes with barbed wire, “Stay! Good boy.” Until it leaked out and over and through again.

So, OK, we loved but we did it in our own way, reusing the scraps that kept falling to the ground. Ten-second, three-hour, four-year rule. Now we don’t even pretend to like the same things on Facebook. We keep twin tufts of hair instead—the scalp still on—all our secrets in shoe boxes.

Which feels more true.

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2 thoughts on “What it felt like then and other stories”

  1. Both are screaming for more… so I am not sure I can see any opposite.. That which embraced inside always comes to a surface.. The deeper within the more it comes out.. What if the tree didn’t grow on one side cause it’s roots were partially out of the ground.. This to has a message.. Deeply profound post my friend!

  2. your writing is obvious. by obvious, i mean cultured like Venice…like peanut butter and honey and tea…like a black dove blackened with its own strength, and disappointing lines shade, singing in spite of the rain, in spite of a dawning sun

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