Their moments were fleeting; at times, raw. This, was that moment.
She giggled. A child’s head popped up from beneath the table. His daughter, a sprite of girl straightened and met his stare. A paper doll dangled from her fingertips. The style of doll was familiar; he knew Jacqueline had sketched it, had painted in the model like features and cut it to form.
“I didn’t see you,” he laughed. “How long have you been here?”
She was his light beam; her smile tamed darkness.
In that moment she charmed him. Feet planted, Annie straightened and dared: stay. Her ruffled blonde hair, wide bangs cut short, and one off- centered, green eye, opened wide; he had noticed her tricks.
Instantly, Annie lowered her head and the spell was broken.
He crouched beside her. Gently, his fingertips smoothed the tussled strands of her hair into place. He cupped her dimpled chin and waited for her to look up. When she did, he traced the freckled path along her cheekbone. Surgical tape stuck to the skin above her left eyebrow. One edge of the tape had lifted. Carefully, his fingertip pressed the errant corner into place. He knew she hated the eye patch, always picked at the edges to get free of the gauze covering.
He lingered in that moment. She was his black cat bone, his good luck charm.
“His Plymouth navigated home on the blade edge of moonlight, that fine line before the razor-sharp steel slices through darkness, revealing the thin leaf of dawn.”
“And in that moment he knew this truth: he’d damn well shoot stars straight out of the sky for her.”
~ Grace Writes
And this is why I love the ocean
The moment when toes touch the edge, between sand and sea
A sear of fire, the blade of ice
Like a shiver to a fever
That begs me: dream
Ushered under by waves
To a time long ago
sleepy lullabies sing
of a love so strong
Tattooed to a forearm
Like a lock to a key
in timeless storybook fashion
Where we drown or swim
and what a comfort that is
~ Claude Monet
The corners of the Diamond Club were lit up by the glow of cigar embers. He saw the familiar high rollers mingling in the shadows, highballs sloshing in cut glass. Sexy women wearing rich silks and party attire slipped through the hazy layers of smoke or clung to the arm of a wealthy, married man. Everyone was high on vice.