I was grumbling about my awful day when I came to the table for dinner, and maybe that’s why Dad singled me out to say grace beforehand.
“Fine,” I muttered, “but it won’t be a very happy prayer.”
Dad shrugged. “God meets us where we are.”
“Yeah, well, he’s going to have to do a lot of extra walking today.”
Once upon a time, you hurt me. You never came back. I could’ve forgotten. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned my memory of you into my own demon, let you take the blame for my unwillingness to forgive. I took the knife you dropped and used it to stab myself over and over, all the while pointing at someone who had disappeared long ago.
Tiny scattered clouds floated around in the sky, so thin and strewn about, it was as if a dog made of clouds was rushing around in the heavens, shaking off clumps of fur that fell to the floor of the sky.
Due to the fact that I’m heading back to school full time and continuing to work as well, I’m going to be taking a brief break from this blog. Once I get up on my feet, I’ll be back, though my usual posting format will have to be adjusted to prioritize school. Hopefully I will be able to return soon, but until then, thanks for reading!
My mom walked into my room before she went to bed, which was usually hours before I did. “Make sure to get enough rest, all right?” She kissed my head. “Sleep tight.” She paused, then added as a rhyme, “Don’t stay up all night.”
Addiction is like being placed on the back of a train and being told to find the front. So you start running, car to car along this long line, trying to reach the engine. And you just think, One more, one more, one more will get me there. I just need one more car and then I’ll find it. But then suddenly you wake up and realize the train is never-ending, there is no engine in sight, and you are exhausted trying to find a satisfaction you’re not even sure exists. Yet we still fall back under the spell because we are all chasing an engine, something that is driving this train.
Writing tip: keep themes. If you start a sentence with a metaphor or something under a certain theme (such as music), keep that theme throughout the sentence and maybe even lightly throughout the whole concept/paragraph as is acceptable.
It was a thick, solid kind of snow that crunched when you stepped on it, that only sank enough to leave prints and prove you’d walked on it. The kind of snow that made you feel like you were walking on water.
People often don’t react in ways that seem logical. Because we’re not logical beings. We’re psychological beings.
There was rain falling outside, tapping on the roof insistently like it wanted to get in but didn’t know how to do anything more than knock over and over again.