Counting it Down
August 16, 2016
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Part of me thinks it would be easier if she just left now. An abrupt departure sounds more tolerable than the slow drip of time
Part of me thinks it would be easier if she just left now. An abrupt departure sounds more tolerable than the slow drip of time
We drove up to his residence cottage at the boarding school he attended and waited. Once outside, he walked toward our truck with a book
{Camera charger was left in Connecticut so it's been a lot of phone pics lately.} There was man in town who painted one side
Due to my car battery’s decision to enter early retirement, Adam came up yesterday to swap it out and spend a quick night. It might
The rain made for a quiet weekend which I was grateful for. It was just the two of us, and it was nice to see
"I'm trying to picture what it would feel like to not be permanently here, but caught between here and somewhere else. " Michelle left
It was Mother’s Day and I was twelve or thirteen years old. We were sitting in a restaurant, perched high on the bank of a
The weather app on my phone tells me there is cloud cover outside with a 30% chance of rain around 11am, but not until then.
There is a lyric about a moth in the song this blog is named after; I’ve always felt a kinship with that little critter:
Storms rolled through overnight and by morning, any rain still clinging to the trees quickly dried under the rising sun, if not by the continuous