he ate the soup you made for him a few weeks before you died. it was sitting in the freezer with a strip of masking tape over the lid, his father’s name written in your hand.
before october last year, he used to call it grandma rocket soup because he thought she made it when the whole time, it was you. but when she died, he replaced grandma’s name with yours and now he eats it quietly, taking his time, as if savoring every bite.
he thanked you, too, you know, as soon as he finished the bowl. he ate the entire thing, the last bowl of soup you made for him.
some people come into your life needing no rhyme nor reason in their presence, you feel your heart smile, you hear your soul sing the weight you’ve been carrying lightens, and the tears no longer sting
suddenly you find yourself smiling more than you ever thought possible you find yourself feeling safe some days, you even feel unstoppable all because you opened your heart when i was at my most vulnerable
so thank you, dearest friend, for being there for me even now after all this time, when everyone else has gone their merry way, thank you for being there for me when I needed a good reminder I’m never alone.
i turned a year older yesterday and for the first time I didn’t feel sad. I felt happy and content, as if something in my life finally made sense, from the relationships I made to the ones I lost even those that were never meant to stay. is that why for the first time in a very long time i only have good things to say
I wrote In His Study six years ago in response to a writing prompt about a person’s character based on items in his desk drawer. While it didn’t really follow the prompt to the letter, I loved writing it and watching each character unfold on the page.
In His Study features one of my all-time favorite couples Luna and Devlin whose story I will go back to this year.
Until then, here’s a peek into their new life in London. I hope you like it!
“…as I do not believe in afterlife, I realize the gift artists make to the world is a selfless one ultimately, and that the knowledge that it may survive the self must be due to a belief in immortality. Or can one really work fo those one will never see? Do I ever think of those who will read me after my death?”
it was never about the sex. it was always about connection. it was never about the way you moved (well, maybe a little) it was more than a simple distraction and as long as you’re willing to keep on going then i’m game, too for as long as this connections holds, baby it’ll always be with you
is there a secret to falling in love or is being in lust with you so much easier on the heart that i should refrain from letting my mind tell me to stop and just go for the ride and fall and drown, and like a magic trick, appear unbruised, like new?
you are my muse and that is the truth, at least for now, pulling me from the depths of despair i find myself in somehow preferring the comfort of the darkness when there is so much light out there until your smile, your eyes, your voice prove the perfect snare
so keep me under your spell for as long as you truly can dance with me to the tune of my wildness. be my hero, be my man and i’ll write you until my tears run out and i’ll need to cut open a vein and let my fears and dreams and love spill out, and all that my heart cannot contain.