She emerged from the stall like an angel, a streamer of toilet paper trailing from one heel like a glittering train.
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”She pictures him sitting by a window, bathed in the sunlight of a warm, summer afternoon, sketchbook resting on his knee, smiling at her. Smiling like he’s finally content." I'll admit, it's a bit post-moderny for me, but I think this short story about a pigeon turned out well. Click below for the text.
The bed was big
back then. Enough for a childhood of rolling in the grass pillow forts pumpkin carving magical books (their wondrous things postponing sleep) dreams of cookie batter ice cream cakes french fries all-together in a clouded future. beautiful days (bleaching blond hair blonder). Perfect for a child and a father. Too small for you, alone. Like a sailor,
missing shore. We have not forgotten you. Like a bench, beneath a child. I will not leave you. Like a woman, for a future. Find me. Like fate, breathing softly: No one waits better than I. |