nhart
I felt my back weaken and my shoulders sag, and thought nothing of it. Only now, after two years walking down this path, do I turn around and notice the straws piling up, one by one, and feel fear.
I felt my back weaken and my shoulders sag, and thought nothing of it. Only now, after two years walking down this path, do I turn around and notice the straws piling up, one by one, and feel fear.
It's been 8 months, I think, and I can see both paths so clearly. The one I'm on, and the one that begins at her feet. What seemed impossible now seems close; what seemed invisible now seems clear. Now I know that her path is so much closer to my own than I had ever thought.
The warmth of the fire, the radio on low, and the paper rustling at my finger-tips; they brighten my eyes and send shivers down my back. The comfort and love of home on this winter evening reminds me, as it has so many times before, that birds aren't the only ones who nest.
My first thought is that a chat is a conversation without a soul. It sounds harsh, but I believe it. A chat is safe; you don't expose yourself, your intentions can stay masked, and the whole thing can be forgotten within an hour. I'm not good at chatting.
A word whose pronunciation echoes its meaning; say it out loud, and you'll see what I mean. That "I", the lonely vowel, is literally mashed between the consonants, an abrasive combination that is at once harsh and apt. You'll never call it a pretty sounding word, but the idea that a word's sound may reveal its meaning is certainly a beautiful concept.