these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.



these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.
three hundred sixty five stories that begin and never end.

Blog Archive

Showing posts with label some place only we know. Show all posts
Showing posts with label some place only we know. Show all posts

Friday, March 5, 2010

Muse 49: Daze


He was crazy about planning - he didn't plan at all. Although I had the car and the steady cash, the promised future and a good luck past, he was the one who called in moments like four am and told me to pick him up on the corner of Dante's Pub. He was always the one barely clothed, yet if clothed at all, he wore the bare minimum. Greeting with a smile and a short thanks, he slid into the passenger seat and said, "Drive anywhere, just not home. I don't care where you go." Of course I took the road towards home, and so he snapped out directions that I begrudgingly followed until we ended up on a road with nothing but tree and trees for miles and miles. Somehow he got me to stop, I thought he had to pee, but he started walking into the forest. It was five am. So I parked my car and followed him, and he kept walking, and I followed in fear that he would disappear in the labyrinth and never return to me. He kept walking until it was six am, where the sun broke through the trees casting shadows and shades around us. Suddenly he stopped, with a crinkled frown, sobered but hung over, and asked, "I don't know where I'm going?" I smiled and caught up while he stood in stupor. I kissed his cheek and whispered that if anything, I knew how to get back.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Muse 13: Secret Garden


There is a place everyone wishes they could go to, somewhere secret and unknown, that has a path so they won't get lost. Alice has been there. Peter lives there. It is a land that we have only dreamed of seeing. Lost has myriad implications that will never mean that same thing once; like a fire that cannot be photographed identically. In a frenzy of definitions, I wonder: How can I feel good when I'm lost, on my own, knowing that the only route is a carved direction filled with simplicity. And yet how can I feel so bad when I'm lost, on my own, knowing that no one will ever find me again. The path feels so soft and earthly underneath my feet, where the dirt slowly eats away at my calloused soles to expose the gentle, baby skin. The wet morning dew kissing my sore, blistered red feet is the only thing that can hurt me. I think I will continue running, no matter what "lost" has in store for me.