~ draft scene
Early morning sunlight crept in through the open window and kissed her on the shoulder.
He watched her sleep. Studied each soft inhale and exhale of breath, traced a lock of hair across the pillowcase. The hair she refused to cut. Her signature, a self-styled rebellion against time and fashion mores.
Light crept across the bed, unveiling her face in real- time. She was his June with December’s eyes. He touched the scar beneath her chin and counted each freckle, long faded.
Time had caught him by surprise; he’d not seen himself growing older. Certainly, he had not seen her coming. It wasn’t supposed to play out this way. Now all he wanted was to absorb her into oblivion.
Life could be a lonely act. How fast it goes. As seasons changed, he’d buried his father, then his mother, and cheated on his wives. Like the tease of spring, she had tip- toed into his life, the odds stacked against her.
He’d warned. ” I carry a full bag.”
“Unpack,” she said.
Their future was uncertain. He knew this truth: she was hard to crush.
When they question your worth
Take a breath.
A sisterhood of women stand with you.
You’re a Queen.
The daughter of painters and writers
Worn mothers, posh aunts
Star crossed lovers
Saints and sinners
Warriors with roses
Stitched by the hand of a missionary’s grace
Her tapestry forged with iron and lace
Fragile yet strong
Our thread never breaks.
When they ask, ‘Who do you think you are?‘
Raise your head and smile.
~warriors and roses
It was over. The memory of tail lights lingered in his mind. She’s taunting me.
Roy lit a smoke and stared across the water.
Rain fell like tears and rolled over the pavement. The lonesome moan of a tug echoed in the distance. He felt his pulse pump like a bass line. As his forehead touched the rail, he closed his eyes in prayer.
How strange to bow down, he thought, a man who has only set foot in a church, once.
~ Everything and Nothing
You asked how it felt to love him. Let me try to explain. It was as if one hundred doves took flight. Exquisitely rare and magical.
~Miss Ella Speaks
Her fingers brushed a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind my ear.
She said, “Pink is a pretty colour, Lass.”
A simple gesture yet profoundly intimate.
It’s been so long since I felt my mother’s touch.
~ The Stranger
just before birdsong
on the edge of time
within the margins of a favourite story
is where she knew,
Say it. Say you didn’t feel it. Then walk away because I can’t. How does one forget the only thing worth cherishing in this life? Some things- some things know nothing of endings. So say it or live the rest of your life in a lie.
~ excerpt from a scene
She has this undying belief that people are doing the best they can
Meet them there.
At the crossroad.
Walk them to their higher self.