what a shame
ain’t no shame in cryin’, passionately pensive
She wrote furiously. Scribbling. Looping. Pausing dramatically. I couldn’t read her words; I didn’t dare peak over her protectively curled arm. The tears welling in the corner of her eyes spoke clear enough: all was not well. She tried to hide her tears, but I sat in their presence and wished I could cry, too.
prince caspeen, i write to be rid of things
Trying to reason with a six year-old works about 15% of the time, which is a good enough success rate to justify an attempt.
shame shame, m: art et cetera
Waiting for Twelve, nightsbrightdays
No matter how hard I cheer, no matter how much I will victory with clenched fists, locked jaw, and held breath, we can’t seem to find another Triple Crown winner.
The Wax and the Wings, Word Shepherd
I like to hover for a moment in the story of Daedalus and Icarus with the two of them in the air, flush with the joy of their escape. I like to fill my lungs with a deep breath of salt air and hope. I like to feel the sun that, yes, is warm enough to melt wax, but that also warms my smiling lips.