Locked Out
My hands tremble as I close the laptop. The words writhe in the watery jelly behind my eyes.
“Yours forever.”
A lie. But whose?
Hers or mine?
The door handle rattles as he jams his key into the broken lock on my front door.
He won’t get inside.
Not tonight.
Capsized
The word was goodbye, but I couldn’t say it.
It split my heart in two to give it breath.
So, I swallowed it down, like so many lungsful of water, brine, and vodka.
I stood in the boathouse, barefoot, dripping, waiting. Knowing.
The party was over long before we capsized.
Storyteller
His hands tell half the story. His eyes roughly a third.
His voice rattles on whether you’re in earshot or not.
The approach matters more than the landing.
And you needn’t worry if you miss something.
He’ll tell this one again. And it will be the first time.
As always.
Last Sip
She never finished a glass.
Left a single sip.
An oversight.
A petty indulgence.
“Just finish it,” I’d say.
“I’ve had enough,” she’d answer.
“It’s one sip.”
“Then you drink it.”
“I don’t drink red wine.”
“Then throw it out.”
“That’s a waste.”
“Then throw me out!”
And that would end it.
Until the next pour.
Uncharted
She signals right and pulls over abruptly.
She squints down the sun-dappled stretch of dirt road to her left.
“It’s not on the map.” Her voice trembles with uncertainty.
“Neither were you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and her skin warms.
She signals left.
With certainty.
These are really fun and I'd love to see them become a staple in your arsenal.
Can’t pick a favourite. You never asked me to … but …
I’ll re-read tomorrow. Off to watch a movie.