she pauses

she pauses in the doorway, one foot tentatively outside, her palm resting on the weathered white frame. she looks at the ground beneath her two feet–one hovers above fallen leaves, the other on a scarred wooden floor.

she turns her head slightly, biting her lower lip, and looks over her shoulder. caught between two worlds, the late autumn sun lights her hair, the darkening room shadows her face.

a slight intake of breath, her fingers tighten on the frame.

she looks up. “i’ve always been in love with you. ever since…”

her hand releases, her feet move forward. leaves crunch. the door moves slightly in the breeze.

you reach up and touch the frame where her palm last rested. a faint trace of warmth lingers, you imagine it moving up your hand into your arm. tracing veins, chasing blood back to your heart.

you press your fingertips to your lips, closing your eyes. breathing. she can’t be far. you can stop her.

then.

“honey? dinner’s ready. and shut that door before the cats get out.”

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lucky

I’m looking over the lazy curl of the Ohio, watching the night lights of Cincinnati grow brighter. The sky itself is a mesh of of blue, grey, and dusky rose. It’s beautiful. And then it occurs to me. I have seen so many beautiful places, have stayed in ancient cities, and witnessed breathtaking wonders. I have seen so much beauty in this world … and while at the time I noticed an appreciated it, afterwards I shoved it back to the inaccessible junk pile of memory that we all have.

I have been so lucky to see the things I have seen … the sunsets, storms, deer, flowers, even the insects … on and on and on. It saddens me a little now to realize I can’t recollect it all at will. I know that’s the design of the human mind – you can’t remember everything or you’d go crazy.

But I still feel a pang, not being able to remember all of the beauty. Continue reading “lucky”