You’ve written your last word in a Challenge you thought you would never enter. Yet during that sleepless night, an idea blossoms. Painstaking minutes spent thinking about transforming plain old English into creative, beautiful Prose. Hesitation lasts thirty seconds before the click to Submit.

Six hours later, your inbox lights up with a message “Someone liked your post.”

A happy moment.

unripened strawberries.

expensive french soda

and mystery suckers.

she’ll taste of linen

or wine wood tips.

weaponized cherry blossoms,

salt of the earth.

tears of sugar

from hungry, coffee eyes

it is the sweetest taste

it is the sweetest taste

more doubts than

anything else

my son-to-be’s

blue eyes

like lightning

he’ll be in my life

until i’m forty

terrifying

adorable yet

my new reality

this is what motherhood

will be

my quarantine baby

parents who say

why be tied down

in your twenties

but have you seen his face

a right to happiness

and laughter that resonates

louder than his barking

a puppy of defiance

in the face of hardship

I love the way a baby’s little fingers feel as they clasp my own, trusting, and the grey blue of those beautiful eyes, like two oceans flecked with stars. I love the way her fat legs kick the air, the indistinct gurgles she makes, the wisp of blonde hair that curls on her soft, pink head. Her smile would turn the hardest heart into butter in an instant.

I love the endless stretch of sky, so changeable and yet so timeless. The storms, the sunny days, the darkness and the stars. The serenity of its stillness. The way it reflects God; peaceful, ageless, and always beautiful.

I love the sea; I could write a million stories about it. It’s almost more beautiful than the sky. If you want to be my friend, tell me you like fishing (and mean it).

I love my youngest sister’s smile and the silly way she constantly quotes her favourite books and movies. I love the nerdiness of my other little sister, her obsession with horses and the unexpected wittiness she randomly displays every once in a while. I love my brother’s craziness; everyone needs a crazy, loving brother. I know how irritating siblings can be but if I could wish for an extra brother or two I’d do so in a heartbeat.

Don’t even get me started on food. I love that, too (in a good way). And I know most people disagree, but durian is delicious. Never try to persuade me it’s disgusting because there is not a single argument that could convince me.

I’m having way too much fun writing this, so writing can be added to my list of can’t-live-withouts, alongside music and laughter. I mean, isn’t laughter beautiful! What if you couldn’t laugh? Just imagine that for a moment.

I also love good books, so if you ever happen to sit next to me on a train I’ll gladly have a discussion on novels and authors with you. In fact, I love anyone who can have a decent conversation or argument about anything that I enjoy. Whenever I see my brother, we tend to start debating some issue or other. I generally win.

I think.

Talking to my boo

gives me so much pleasure.

we talk about nothing,

we talk about everything.

sometimes we call

land end up sitting in silence,

listening to the sounds of each other’s breaths,

listening to the random sounds we make

as we do our own thing.

but sometimes we goof around

and call each other pet names,

we flirt a lot, he always knows what to say.

sometimes we just listen to music together,

sometimes we play games.

But, no matter what we do,

talking to him fills my heart with joy.

he knows I have a thing for him,

he laid me down gently,

telling me he’s not ready yet,

and that he doesn’t want to lose

the little thing we have.

i told him it’s okay,

i totally understand.

This interaction really set us back for a little bit,

yet, slowly but surely,

we ended up getting closer to each other.

we talk about our lives,

which are settled several states apart.

we talk about our dreams,

our hopes, our goals for the future.

talking to him is why I look forward to every day,

words cannot simply express all I have to say.

Gather round, broken souls

“Time is still a flying”

Sit and stare into the fire

Watch the children of warmth and wood

Dancing in the night

Share around the plates and bowls

Made of pewter and stone

Spoons and fork, not made of silver

Pass them round and round

Come, have a piece of comfort

Plucked straight from a stick amidst the fire

Burnt black like coal – but peel off the covers

To find inside a golden joy

Here, have a bowl of confidence

And strength regain back once again

Scalding hot like melted iron – but blow on gently

To find within a liquid life

And so, broken souls, we laugh, forget, and heal

He is like 6 ft tall ,and hates doors for some reason but with all his quirks. He is amazing.I met him 2 years ago at an after school church group. We ended up talking, and doing things like playing tic-tac-toe. At that moment I did´t think much of. A couple monthes later, I look forward to seeing him each week. Now 2 years later we message almost every day, and I soon realized that I had fallen in love with my best friend. He laughed at the stupidest things and even helped me with math when I slept through class. All in all I can´t imagine a world without him.

joy

kindness

nostalgia ... when it is not painful or when it is very much painful

dogs

strength when it counts and weakness just the same

IAM

my children

typos for the sake of just free thought

people who love animals appropriately

cows

ceareal in bowls too big to be for ceareal

history

who I was before

who I hope to be soon

ideas worth listening to

cases no one else wants

really good good guys

really bad bad guys

underdogs

hairless cats with even temperment and

time

love when it is pure and good and sweet and pleasing

Intimate conversations with criminals

education

experiance and those who learned valuable lessons gaining it

eyedrops

tears that fall in joy, relief, humanity, and acts of kindness

nothing about myself

Everything about others no one wants

baseball broadcasting

boxing

shades of purple only found in nature and nothing more

eggs, and not for reasons everyone else may

seeds

the taste of dirt in coffee

music... good, gritty, emotionall charged fantastic guitar through a dirty 70′s peddle

piano when my son plays when he is happy, sad, excited.... wanting

slow motion violent crime scenes in movies that are not at all realistic

poverty

praise

saddness for regret

the smell of soft sulfer in the air

religions that are reduculous at best

closing my eyes and hearing the banter of my sons, which allows me to live another day

fucked up situatuions with all together lovely endings

holding someone as they die, because they ask you to

thunder storms

light

darkness

Feral humans looking for any kindness they can grab onto and drown

convicted men’s eyes

guilty free men’s lies

rain

birds and howling winds

Destination unknown

wood floors

the smell of citrus fruits being peeled

Cucumbers being cut and making the air smell clean

humilty

individual moments with strangers that have no meaning

making people safe

making people uncomfortable

the story of Stephen

the wrath of Samson

the intelligence of abused children who grew into wonderful adults

strangers

.

.

.

Ellipses