The honest reflection on this, here at the halfway mark, is that it has been really hard for me. It has been a battle, a battle between me and my creativity. A battle of creativity.
He watched as she pushed her mop across the factory floor. The cans of carrots were backing up, but his hands had broken into a sweat.
Arrête, c’est ici l’empire de la mort! I will die soon. The sign over the door predicts my fate.
Every year we meet in paradise; always somewhere with crystalline waters and a turquoise sky.
The little boy with the black hair ran about the campsite in his Superman cape. “Mommy, watch!” The boy jumped from a rock, rolling in the dirt.
We were driving through the dark central valley cornfields, late at night, on our way to visit family. We had been driving for over five hours, the light of the sun had faded hours ago, with only a few stops to stretch our legs.
The little girl woke with a gasp, her heart pounding, sweat running into her eyes. She grabbed her favorite bear, Honey, and dragged him across the floor and into her parent’s room.
“Ahhh, the dilemma of purpose. Some walk through life never giving it a thought. Some live life as a cliffhanger. Some, like you, never quite know.”
Mysterious and beautiful. A place to escape. A place alive at night with numb, wandering souls. A place for us, my forever love.
It was Saturday when I set the explosives. The men in the white coats, they’ve been watching me.