donmarfori
He wishes she could panic. Instead of being driven to work every day by a chauffeur, he wonders if she had ever gotten up 15 minutes too late and haphazardly throwing on any old thing (did she ever have any old things?). He wishes he could imagine her panicking.
She moved closer. Gliding, slinking, even. He felt the drops of perspiration on his forehead, on his chest, under his arms. His shirt felt tighter. With one hand suddenly on his neck, she moved closer and whispered into his ear: "Right now?"
All things start from some other thing. The trick to finding out who you are and what you're supposed to do is to keep finding out where you came from, and where that thing/person/persons came from, until you find out where everything all began and what the purpose of their beginning was.
There was thunder in every step he took, and no one seemed to mind. His walk was purposeful, deliberate, as if he knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do there. Only he knew that beyond the thunder and for all his power, he was scared.
Ill will. Ill-timed. Do we do these things by accident or on purpose? Sometimes I think the things we do and the words we say that others consider to be ill spring from within us. We do not do things that are ill by accident; we do ill because we are ill.
writing since 2011 · 5 entries · 5 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Migs showed up.
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the words Migs reaches for
illaccidentpurposethunderfindingcloserwishestimedsometimeswordsothersconsiderspringstepmindwalk