Light years separate our hearts.
Tomorrow is now.
Memories fade fast;
What could have been never was.
Winter nights forget.
Cyclone ripping through our mirth.
Another Sun dawns.
No regret in taking the Heartbreak Highway. I have had no end of company on this road. In the end with you, I guess, I was just a flash of rag-tag blur as you sped by at 55mph. Perhaps you pined a little as you saw me in that proverbial rear-view mirror of yours while that plain little woman sitting next to you passed you a ham sandwich and prattled on about the wedding plans she made for you both.
And I walk on with nothing left to lose— With the Sun on my face— I squint into the thermals bluring my memory of our mad love. But these thoughts are as elusive as the sweet smell of mesquite after a desert rain.
I need coffee.
Title: “The Light, The Heat”
I had looked forward to meeting up with Elise for coffee that morning. It had been too long. What had it been? Seven years? The anger I had for her had faded though as I had seemingly racked up success after success. I had heard she had not changed much. I eagerly waited for what she had to say to me. I saw her instantly from across the café. As I navigated around the crowded tables, I watched her seemingly scrying into her cup of coffee as she stirred in her sugar. She looked so small in the light. She looked up at me.
Long lines spread out around her eyes and down her clear, downy cheeks. The mid-morning sun made the lines harsh. Once she had seemed strong and sturdy as mountain. But now, her middle-age showed in the light. Those carved lines betrayed her and told of the millennia of sorrow. The arbitrary winds of change had whipped around her and eroded her into a smaller version of herself.
A waiter appeared, asked if the sun disturbed her. But he did not wait for an answer. He drew the cord and closed her off from the harshness of the light. In that instant, when the shade came down, Elise smiled up from her coffee cup. Her face transformed into a light of its own. Those lines disappeared. She animated the peace and good cheer of this single moment as her youth came back to her face. This was the face I had known. This was the woman that I sought to destroy. And here she was, still bold— still beautiful— still bigger than life— still immortal.
And in that moment, I felt seven years was not enough.
Oubliette of the cast offs–
Summer’s distant dream.
a writer's guide to typewriters
my own thoughts, or at least something looking like that. not really based on real life. just some palmwriting.
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