my writing corner

A cup of coffee in front of each of us Steaming, sitting on the two-top table, The hazy summer afternoon drifting towards twilight. We’re talking about nothing and everything, But not really needing to fill the silence. Looking out the window, Watching the world pass us by, We laugh at something, a joke now long forgotten. Another night, in front of a bonfire, We’re burning marshmallows for s’mores, Warming our feet near the fire. We reminisce about high school and prom night, One foot firmly in the present, the other lingering in the past, The smell of burning wood and cigarettes and weed intoxicating. An afternoon in the sun, We are walking down the trail, Winding down offshoots next to the river, Pausing at a bend to take in the view. Continuing on, our feet crunching on the gravel path, We talk nonsense, or let nature fill the silence. Under the tunnel formed by trees and leaves, The light filtering down colored a golden emerald by the lea

We found each other in the midst of summer, Under the Mediterranean sun and the azure sky, Among the subtle smells of lavender, thyme, and rosemary, All mingling with the comforting scent of brine from the ocean. On the beach, surrounded by soft, warm sand, The sun warm and darkening our skin, mellowing us, We tried to tame the ocean waves, huge and angry before an oncoming storm, Bonding over nothings, small, shy smiles, and feeling free. With one foot in the sea and one firmly on the sand, We felt invincible, free, forever young, and eternally happy, For this moment was endless. With the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair, Our skin darkening, our hair absorbing the sea salt, We connected in our own unique way. You, silent and brooding, lean and tan, dark eyes and hair, And me, loud and boisterous, a little thick and pale, light eyes and hair, We were as opposite as black and white, the positive and negative ends of a magnet; We were drawn to

The book is clutched in her hands, her fingers wrapped around it, the leather tong holding it closed between her second and third fingers. How she found it, hidden away, is beyond me, but there it is. In the pale darkness, she’s giving me a curious, almost amusing, look, as though she knows what is written on the pages. Lifting an eyebrow, her lips curve into a small smile. “What is this?” she asks me, her low, lilting voice soft. I remain silent, still surprised that she found the book, hoping she will find the answer in my silence. Moonlight filters in through the single window of our bedroom, silhouetting her from behind. I sigh, still staring at the book in her hands, as I sit down in the rocking chair next to the armoire. Leaning forward, her fingers fiddling with the leather thong wrapped around the book, she rests her elbows on her knees. Her eyes never leave my face, searching for an answer that isn’t there. With her face hidden in shadow, I can’t read her expression w

Nothing is permanent. People leave their mark by making art, creating buildings that are made to last, leaving imprints of themselves. Everything gets washed from the memories of man, anyways, left only for the history books. The only thing that holds on to the remains of memories are the walls of ancient buildings on the brink of disappearing, and the ground they stand on. The basement of the hospital is hauntingly beautiful in its eerie emptiness; of course, there are people coming and going, but at night, hardly anyone is down here. Just a few lingering nurses and pharmacy workers, an occasional wandering someone or other who’s late in leaving from their 9-5, a random doctor or surgeon. Transient shift workers who come and go like the days of the week. In the safety of their work place, in the comfort given to them by badges and scrubs, they don’t think anything of what lurks in the shadows. The history of this hospital is old; it has just as many horror stories as it does

An empty shell of what once was – Empty hallways, abandoned fairways, Shells of buildings, car bodies littering the roads – Leaving the abandoned town soulless and hollow, Cold to the outside world, As it is empty on the inside. It’s a backwater ghost town Forgotten by most And remembered unwillingly by some, Leaving their memories of what was To fill the cracks and crannies here. What happened is something nobody speaks of, Dark and horrific, Happening to the best of people. The eeriness of this town, Made more so by overgrown parking lots And gutted buildings that look soulless, Just a shell of a town, Seeps into you and grabs hold. Left to be taken over by the elements, Left to be forgotten by those who once loved it, This ghost town is no longer on any map, Fallen off the radar long ago, As though whoever once was here Left without a second thought. The dark energy hopes to tie you here. Stumbling upon it by accident, I have fou