Random thought as I was jogging today with my brother while listening to a Spotify playlist called “songs for romanticizing what li[f]e would be if i was a girl in the 1880s”…magic is something you create. Each individual experience is a sliver of magic, so atomic and weightless that it feels insignificant, unimportant. But each …
Wiping my palm sweat on my freshly ironed pants, I realize I’m next in line. Would my word be humorous, or interesting, or dross? I had no idea but the incipience of my reputation was on the line. I could either emerge victorious or suffer a slow death of chagrin. I could see others of …
Finding out through instagram that his client was involved in a $10 million drug trafficking business wasn’t the surprise he was anticipating. And what was it with Ali? This wasn’t the time to worry about personal matters, but they were best friends since elementary school. She was brilliant, one of the city’s best attorneys and …
The first time I met her felt like nectar flowing through a bee A complex, natural reaction simplified into an infatuation, a chemical transformation Her treacly saunter, saccharine and unbothered replayed in my mind a thousand times an indelible golden sunset Diction Treacle – a thick, sticky dark syrup made from partly refined sugar; molasses. …
A thousand thoughts rushed to the periphery Each sensation intimated a different choice, a different path, which further split, divided, then multiplied The mind devolved into a state of chaos; Entropy festered. Lana knew time was running out The dreaded question dropped in the air like an atomic bomb. She gingerly stowed the decision on …
The doctor placed the bell of stethoscope on my chest. Her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid you have Takotsubo cardiomyopathy” I drew a breath. Inhale. . . My lopsided, unwieldy heart Palpitating, Palpable, weighed heavy with grief. Could she decipher neuroticism between heartbeats? Did heart arrhythmia sentiment exist? Did electric signals for a venereal jaunt and …
Centuries ago, a beautiful woman lived on an island She was looking for a soul to understand her Every morning she would climb to the forest’s canopy Every day she would sing a lugubrious song: Can you hear me? See me? Please, come seek me Free me The song rippled across the island’s rivers, traversed …
Before the brush meets the canvas the painter pauses and ponders her next stroke. The moment before the beginning is always disquieting. She takes a deep breath, grips the handle tighter; begins. She paints nervous puddles of questions, meaningless marks, empty strokes, Until a pattern emerges and she adds a new colour to the palette. …
The Scape cranes her swan-like neck and winces at the first rays. Galvanized by the heat, she gently nudges the Bulbil to wake up. The leaves unravel to the warmth on the epidermis. Summer is harvest season; it’s time to inform the others. The Scape sends the messenger down the stem by the afternoon. Mother …
Yesterday I had a dream In the dream, I wrote a song about you I culled the notes from your past , arranged them in the present; folded the lilt of your voice into the time signature; tucked my favourite memories into each trill. i wrote you into the da capo in the coda, we …