Relying solely on a section of the newspaper for a movie choice. The excitement of going down through the listings and reading the few lines of script that best described the movie with so few words. You’d spend extra time on the showings with an accompanying photo being most likely the blockbusters. Debate with your fellow movie-goer until the show times force you to pick. Shit, it’s twenty-to. We have to leave if we want to make the 6:00.
I’m telling you. It was a vibe, a feel, an event. I miss it on second thought and wish sometimes we didn’t have to go so fast. – Ash
my winter retreat was lonely flurries turned into storms dark skies seemed always cold bit me every second ice through my veins stiffened from life sharpen gales to cut me away I was polar from everything sitting barren until her voice her light all that warmth from beyond chiselled me free of that void capsule I am her sun she is my days
I mentioned my daughter today as I always do in conversation. Oddly enough, to someone the same age as her. The response, “If she is anything like you, Ash, I’m sure she is just as awesome.” My heart sank. Why does the rest of the world see what she cannot? Why do I try to convince myself that what they say is not true because it is not told to me by her? Why do I feel broken and all she did was just sweep away the pieces? Questions I ask all the time because I hurt all the time. Something must be wrong with me.
But then someone comes along and suddenly, my reflection in the mirror changes. The questions disappear as I find another piece of me that was thrown away. Returned by a friendly face reminding me how my big my heart actually is.
You are a flower a flower long picked from the garden home with just today as a reminder of when you began to grow seasons pass and nothing else seems to want to flourish anymore your bloom was what kept these old roots alive now, the rain never comes backs the sun only hurts the moon listens, but that’s all the wind is gone before I know it not one thing about life is life in this garden home without a little flower
Ah, the missing gift. Christmastime, a sad reminder that once again there will be a certain To: and From: gift nametag missing from under the tree. A present that no longer finds its way on Santa’s list. A gift we most likely have asked for every year since. It is one of the hardest things about the holidays for me. Though, I learned a long time ago not to dwell on that when it came to thinking of the people that are no longer a part of my life. Instead, I started to think of all the memories I have of them and no matter what, they will always be a part of my life that way. That will never be lost.
I wrote a letter
on a beacon of hope
gave fate the return address
but sadly, I still sit and wait
but sadly, tomorrow never comes
every day is a search
every day a wish
but sadly, nothing is found or returned
some days I see shadows
some nights a mirage
could it be
could it be
could it be
but sadly, none of them are really you
there are moments where I believe
there are moments where I truly feel
that I will see you again in time
as it passes
but sadly, you're still disappeared