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Still
“Do you still love me?”, she said. Does she think I’m fooling around?, I thought. I saw something on the internet today about fooling around. I pondered to myself, she must think this when she says I’m not really there sometimes. To her luck, it’s not in my nature to fool around. I love her.
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Craft
“I was worried”. She said. “Why were you worried little one?” I answered. The craft is our imperfectly crafted moments that we stitch together every single day. At its core, the “together” is the only explainable word to describe the craft. When the stich happens to come loose, just even a little bit, we go
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Her
“Do you still love me?”, she said. “Of course, I do baby.”, I replied. She lets out a grin filled with joy. She grins, and everything inside me shifts and stirs. I think of her, every single minute of my existence. I consider her, in every one of those fleeting thoughts. Between all my agonies,
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Peel
“I feel so at ease with her, then why is it always like this”? I woke up in the middle of the night on the sofa, looking at the ceiling. I wanted to ponder, irritated by a stingy headache. Why is that ease so important? What If we’re looking at it from the wrong side?
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Woman
“We need to find a pink bottle.”, she said. I hope we find it after an intentionally long search, so that I can look at her wandering in the store, I thought. We didn’t find the pink bottle, I’ll take her to the store again, and look at her again. Her dainty femininity. Since ancient