When he was still young and green, he liked to say, “I’m separate from you.” Her reply never varied. “That’s how it should be.” Even so, he suspected there was something beneath her quiet, calm patience, a secret that belied her answer. He thought it might have to do with the echoes of her he…
Category Archives: Communication
She wonders when there will be time again to court her Muse. To take her for long, solitary walks, and plunge with her deeply into dreams, where they dove together without caution, through tempests of color, desires, emotions, only to merge back into the world, no longer ordinary, having been touched by the sublime, having…
Silence… …sweet, blessed void… Refuge. Solace. And… …the only space… in which she can truly hear.
Someone left a book in her mailbox today—”Woe is I, The Grammarphobe’s Guide to Better English in Plain English.” There was no note, only a faded orange post it with her name written in all caps, in unfamiliar handwriting. She knows she’s not the best at grammar. Lie? Lay? Which is it? She can never…
“Look, Janey, that tree’s yawning,” Emma said, pointing to a tree at the end of the block. “What tree? Where?” Emma ran up to the tree and pointed up. “Right here, see?” Her friend squinted her eyes at the tree and tilted her head. “It’s just a tree with a hole in it, and a…
“Rather ugly words coming from the mouth of such a beautiful young woman.” Ayn turned at the sound of Father Gheraeld’s deep voice. She watched him walk through the other Counsel members, who made way for him wordlessly, until he was standing in front of she and Lettie. On the other side of the door,…
She’d been called “sweet pea” a lot in the past months, ever since he’d been called to serve in Father Gheraeld’s administration as Chief Science Counsel and they’d had to leave their old life behind. “Lettie can help you finish,” he said as he moved toward the door. “She’s good with calculus.” “Of course she…
He is twice her size. She straddles the park bench, her back to his chest, face towards the sun. Encircled by his arms. His winter-pale legs—golden hair shimmering—encase hers. His warm lips graze the back of her neck. She peers over her shoulder as a woman walks by, one of many on this sunny spring…
The tide rose without her noticing. She is drowning. In an ocean of voices. Their clashing rhythms crashes over her. Deep. High. Fast. Slow. She imagines a bubble, like a deep-sea diver’s helmet, set squarely upon her broad shoulders. Meant to keep the voices out. To keep her thoughts her own. Her own. The voices…
