The other day, I sat silently watching a moth sputter furiously at the window in front of me, trying desperately to get out through the pane of glass that prevented its flight. The delicate, mottled brown wings looked like blurred sand as they fluttered against its taunting prison walls. Suddenly, it stopped, and sat unmoving in confusion on the sill and I could see more clearly the darker lines spanning from one edge of its papery wings to the other.Read More
It’s those times when you’re craning your neck to stare up into the black sky from a hammock, wrapped in a woven white blanket belonging to your best friend, and everything smells like her and childhood and sun-warmed-grass-thats-now-cooled-in-the-dark and saltwater and damp, and the voices of the neighbors and the neighbors’ kids trickle up to your ears through the night in xylophonic trills of laughter, and the dogs are barking on the hill, and you can hear waves washing onRead More
I’m in the lacunae now. The little gap, the bit where the text is missing, where the song stops for an extended period, and everything is hushed, waiting waiting waiting for the return of movement, waiting to see how it plays next. I tell myself that I can enjoy the anticipation, with every kinetic molecule suspended in its cellular matrix, ready to crash into motion with heat and noise. But, oh, I hate it.