psalms written by palmsCecil spoke with his hands, and when he did, it looked like magic. I was always stumbling for words while he made them out of thin air, shaping molecules into sounds so quiet they could only be seen. I wanted my fingers to dance like his, but they felt clumsy and heavy. But he always smiled when I tried, and his hands smiled back.psalms written by palms
There were nights when the only way I could speak was in sideways glances, and his fingertips would whisper secrets across my collarbone, always slow and soft and quiet.
On the beach, he presses his palm to mine in a classic and immediately intimate gesture. I use my hands to sculpt sandca
MusclesShe looked different, and I looked the same. Her cheeks were thinner, like she’d been stretched on foreign food or a different ratio of calories per air molecule. The wind had made her hair longer, and it smelled salty. Her skin was still soft, but I was terrified of touching her, like she would tear at a corner like a paper doll. She didn’t look real. Her eyes were wells dug under the skies of Michelangelo, and her lips were swollen with secrets whispered through the cracks of the Berlin wall.Muscles
Her calves looked leaner, the result of taking thousands of more steps than she usually did. I knew where her feet had taken h
Charade Parades.Are you Dutch? No. Swedish? Not a chance. Spain, then. Ireland? England? Germany. No, no, no, and no. But you’re not French. You are correct, I’m not French.Charade Parades.
This was an easy game to play. I played it straight. Everyday I had a million offers to redefine myself. It would be so easy to lie, but I didn’t. Exasperated by this enigmatic figure, where are you from then? The United States.
It sounds too proud to say American, even outside of English.
Ah no, it is impossible, I did not realize that Americans were so beautiful. You must stay in France and make it more beautiful also.
Thanks.
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Your writing has a lot of clarity, imagination, and to me, is beautiful. Thanks for posting.
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I hate mess, but I love you.
Your work is really something to me.
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"...the great tragedy of the world is not that people suffer, but how much they miss when they suffer. Nothing is quite as depressing as wasted pain, agony without an ultimate meaning or purpose." ~Fulton Sheen
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