Thursday, June 11, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
300 Writing Prompts; Take 1
What is your favorite way to spend a lazy day?
When the evening sun slants in through the tree outside my kitchen window in that special way it usually reserves for Hollywood cameras; When sad songs full of longing dominate the radio; When there's no nook or cranny left to scour in my tiny home; When my day has not been stressful enough to provide distraction -- It's days like this that I can't help but think of you.
On most of these noiseless evenings, I arm myself with soft sweat pants, a t-shirt worn thin and smooth, and a book that will speak loudly enough to drown out the memory of your voice. It never works. Your words press into the walls I've thrown up around my new life. They threaten to crush all the progress I've made these past two years. "There she is!" you say, after we've been apart so long. "I promise," you say, as I drift to sleep. "I need you here," you say, when you ask me to elope. "I married a smart, independent woman," you say, "and now look at you." "I can't do this anymore," you say, as my resolve crumbles. Round and round and round your words go, until I can't run from them anymore. Until I find myself here.
"A perfect lazy day at home," my Facebook status will read. I am too ashamed to let anyone know that even now I ache for what we were before - young and brave and sure of heart. I mourn the fairy tale we pretended we could be.
Dear Ex Lover,
When the evening sun slants in through the tree outside my kitchen window in that special way it usually reserves for Hollywood cameras; When sad songs full of longing dominate the radio; When there's no nook or cranny left to scour in my tiny home; When my day has not been stressful enough to provide distraction -- It's days like this that I can't help but think of you.
On most of these noiseless evenings, I arm myself with soft sweat pants, a t-shirt worn thin and smooth, and a book that will speak loudly enough to drown out the memory of your voice. It never works. Your words press into the walls I've thrown up around my new life. They threaten to crush all the progress I've made these past two years. "There she is!" you say, after we've been apart so long. "I promise," you say, as I drift to sleep. "I need you here," you say, when you ask me to elope. "I married a smart, independent woman," you say, "and now look at you." "I can't do this anymore," you say, as my resolve crumbles. Round and round and round your words go, until I can't run from them anymore. Until I find myself here.
"A perfect lazy day at home," my Facebook status will read. I am too ashamed to let anyone know that even now I ache for what we were before - young and brave and sure of heart. I mourn the fairy tale we pretended we could be.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Someone Old, Someone New, Shining Penny in My Shoe
I was raised a proper southern lady, but I met Ryan in the midst of personal turmoil. Consequently, all my grace and poise and good manners had been tossed out the window. It had been less than a week since I found out my marriage was over. I'd delivered 20+ resumes, but hadn't received a single call back yet. I was living couch to couch, toting all my earthly possessions around in the trunk of my car. I felt like a train wreck, and it showed.
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