a short story

I seemed to have lost the magic along the way. Perhaps it was stuffed in an old green backpack, lost somewhere in upstate New York and covered in leaves from several years ago. It doesn’t really matter when your in a new place or in mountain town. I’m making friends with the people I have known in a different lifetime. But still I feel like I lost something along the way.
Everyone is on a journey to a different country. I’m in a new place but still looking for that new country. Experience, yes, that is what I have acquired. Observation helps, like the observation I made of a temporary lover. That’s all I did actually. I watched him. I watched him as I let him into my house. He would tornado around my room and kitchen and then ask to use my bathroom. Announcing profound romance but not looking at me in the eye. I would watch the blood stains on his shirts. What’s crazy is the amount of effort he would put in to hide a major part of himself. The worst part, the addictive manipulative part. He wanted to keep that close. Let it shine. Let some air in. He’s cornered in the bathroom holding onto the thing that he has grown accustomed to and the ritual he would die for.

1 thought on “a short story”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s