arlenemalinowski
Tasting menus- that's the way I'd like to live. Doing a litttle of this, a little of that. A bite here, a bite there. Commiting to one dish in your life seems like it would be less interesting.
Her genetics nominated her to be the mentally ill one. What could she do but to say yes. It was predetermined.
I always tried to make up a good one- but then I got sloppy about it. But it didn't matter because by then I didn't care.
She had always imagined that her prince would gallop in on a bright white stallion. Later when she was more realistic she thought that she would settle for a rich guy in a limo. But she never dreamed that a stoner on a bike would tear the love out of her the way he did.
The Cleopatra look was what she was after; Provacative, alluring, senusal. Instead she got racoon; troublesome, garbage eating rodent.
She wondered if the gasoline in the lawnmower was enough to blow up the garage. She just didn't feel like cleaning the rat-trap out and this seemed like a do-able solution.
Breathe sweat and sneakers. Watch everyone running in place to get somewhere else. Move until you hurt. Listen to the clank of the weights. Be grateful that your body can take you here.
It was just a little black dowel with a painted white tip- but Mommy told me that it was magic- and for my 4year old self there was nothing better.
The winds of doubt swept her love of writing under the rug of silence.
She was thoughtful in that way- so unlike me. She sent cards, said please and thank you for noticing, took time in choosing and wrapping gifts, gave money to people asking on the street, bought the raffle tickets for the church, girl scouts, soccer teams. SHe was so unlike me- and I hated her for it.
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writing since 2011 · 32 entries · 31 days shown up
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