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It was just the local place. He always came here. It was where he felt most like himself. His pathetic, single, bitter self. The local. He had met her here. One miserable day in November. She had been sitting by the window by herself, sipping a gin and tonic. Her. He missed her.

Posted By KellyH On 11.26.2012 @ 1:10 pm

History, to me, occurs just after you hear the sound of your shoes upon a red, tiled floor which you know has been there for centuries. And then you imagine how many shoes have walked upon it before yours, and what sound they made. And who they belonged to. Their faces are always blurs, like a thousand year-old tapestry.

Posted By Kellyh On 06.23.2011 @ 2:11 pm

I met him on the train. It was christmas, cold and dull. My heart was broken already, and I didn’t expect it to mend any time soon. But then he took my seat. He stole my seat, my number and my bloody heart in one fell swoop. And as rocky as the last year and half has been since then, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I love you.

Posted By Kellyh On 06.15.2011 @ 3:49 pm

a kilt. Always a kilt. Why don’t you see anything else in plaid. I’ve never worn one. I don’t think my legs are hairy enough to pull it off actually. And I don’t have one of those dirk things. Yes. Maybe when I was six years old I wore plaid. It seems like something one wears when they’re very young or very old. Bright yet dark. Crissed yet crossed.

Posted By kellyh On 06.06.2011 @ 8:11 am