winter again


the road unfurls from my front wheel like a wet, black tongue, lashing between snowed-over yards and cutting a path through a tunnel of trees. i dare to pedal harder, smashing knobbly rubber through the not-yet-ice as gravity drags me downhill.

and yet as i fly, my legs rattle above the pedals from the wind cutting straight through muscle. the faster i move, the colder i am.

and i know i'll be warm again shortly.

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05 December 2018 09:32


stolen


there's a shoebox full of letters in a language i can hardly read. years ago, when my mother was packing up her things so she could sell her house and move to a small island, she created piles and piles of objects she didn't want to take with her.

i took this box when she wasn't looking.

i don't think i have the right to read any of these letters, even if i could piece together the glyphs into sentences, thoughts, ideas. but i didn't think she had the right to throw them away.

all objects are just objects, i tell myself. but some objects seem more precious than others.

they will all be dust someday.

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04 December 2018 00:02



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