instead i fixed her hair
she cried. tears pooling in the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes; begging me to help her. sneak her out when the nurses turned their backs. feeling like she was falling, she clutched and clawed at the bed.
all of a sudden
like the paper thin skin of her hands, my grandmother’s eyes are almost transparent. i watch as they frantically dart around the room, desperate to focus and meet my gaze. they are pleading; begging me to understand a lifetime of tiny memories, of regrets, of little vignettes frozen in time.
you’re a firework
Lately I find myself repeating the same advice to anyone in their early twenties: Start traditions with your friends. Traditions you adhere to year after year, no matter what.
music saves your mortal soul
some days, the only thing i really understand is music. loud, pulsating, irreverent rock and roll tearing through my internal solar system.
exactly as you are.
happy 8th birthday hunter, your journal entry yesterday read, “tomorrow is my birthday. i feel taller already.” and this morning, sure enough, you were. before my very eyes, in what feels like a single breath, you became big. a certifiable kid. a person who every day needs me less. a boy with unlimited ideas and…