tiffanyfillion
He reclines,
almost falling backwards,
pushing the limits,
as he always has.
The chair doesn't fit him,
in fact,
it devours him.
The stark contrast of
the dark red bandana
against the white chair.
It's so contrary to expectations
that it's actually perfect.
Our digital clock sat flashing across from me, resting on a worn coffee table. We'd stopped caring about time any more. We lost ourselves in tangles of arms and legs and sweet morning kisses. We went back and relied purely on our innate desires to love. We would set the clock once time was told in digital numbers and not moments of pure bliss.
He approached me cautiously, attempting to mask his insecurities that I could see so obviously, but only because I shared the exact faults. In that fugacious moment, the only thing that existed in each of our worlds was that we had found some one so close to ourselves that we were jarred back to reality and we took slow steps backwards and remained confined by our individual thoughts, cursing ourselves for refusing to act when the perfect opportunity arose.
She boosted me up on her shoulders as my shaking legs attempted to find stable ground. Tears form in my eyes as fear wells in my heart. Finally my toe finds the edge
The average temperature in New York City that night was predicted to be -5 degrees Celsius. She bundled up in her favorite rainbow scarf and trodded through the snow, giving questioning looks to those who seemed so miserable. The snow fell in gentle waves around her as an uncontainable smile played on her chapped lips.She saw him in the distance, sprinted to the end of the street and finally collapsed into her true loves arms.
It had been in the attic for years now, the once white zig-zag ribbon is now yellowing, the edges of the carefully hand sewn one-piece suit were fraying. She looked at it nostalgic for times when her deepest worries were the high-school quarterback.
It was supposed to be sturdy, the first investment in our new marriage. As newlyweds, we had our differences in opinions of style, but the smooth, hardwood table was the one thing we instantly agreed on. As our relationship wore on, the table became stained, marked, and abused, as did parts of ourselves. My ego bruised and battered as you bring up how much you hate my family one more time. Yours as I critique how you have to leave me every Thursday night for poker with the boys. The odd thing was, all of our fights were centered around this table, and originally we were impressed with the stability.
I stood on my tippy-toes to pull from the shelf the tallest glass that I could find. Then, my fingers swiftly found the chilled iced-tea pitcher. There was a light breeze and the purple IKEA sofa on my screened-in porch called my name.
Her eyes pleaded, her legs contorted underneath her, trying to shelter what little dignity she had left Her hands covering her slightly exposed breasts, she only wanted a night of fun. Instead, she would get a night where all she wished was that she had the courage to utter that simple word, "help".
He looked ridiculous, dressed formally. His jeans and loose fitting t-shirts molded to his sculpted body, but his khakis were too baggy, and looked to new. The tie was a noose for him, and it was obvious that he did not fit in with her friends. But when you saw him glance into her eyes, it became apparent that he would do anything just to see her smile.
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writing since 2009 · 32 entries · 32 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Tiffany showed up.
4longest streak
32days written
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the words Tiffany reaches for
eyesloveourselveswornhandslightlynighttablesummerfinallyaloneclassicknowingrunningfillstilted