Sam-AutumnLeaf

White paper. Colored pens, several pieces of leftover crayon, some odd objects from around the house. A bottle top is plopped onto paper, a small hand draws around its circumference; dull gold and purple. And again in mist green. And again. Something shatters in the background. The circles increase, faster now. Colors turn warmer, orange and red, brown and moss. Some overlapping others, some bleak in their isolation. Voices rise, each octave accompanied by a harsher shade, a more vigorous circle. A thicker one, one that spirals out of the paper, one silenced in imposed authority. Doors slam, but the cries become louder, the circles become

I wrote you a letter today. A simple little hoop, the one we jumped imaginary lions through, the one we set on fire. The first letter of your beautiful name. I wrote it just the way we used to, the way you taught me when we perfected alphabet. We thought flawless letters would create flawless stories, but even then my dear, your z’s looked a little doubtful. Our i’s were dotted with tiny circles that you would fill with colors when I wasn’t around. You thought you were the only one rereading those mementos? I remember the exact shades of green and pinks that your fingers must have caressed before pressing them onto paper, y

He never really did like trains. He looks up at the sky and sighs, waiting. The light of the setting sun seeps in, dousing the red seats in a sort of golden glow. She picks up the book she was reading from the smooth wood of the table in front of her, bringing up her legs and settling into another comfortable position in the corner of her window seat, immersed in the brightly lit black words. Earphones trail down from under the brown locks framing her face, blocking the subdued rhythm of the wheels. That rhythm gradually ebbs away before coming to a halt. A minute later, she vaguely registers somebody on the opposite side of the table set s

Do you remember how you would laugh at me and tell me that my heart is nothing more than a wondering gypsy, that I won't settle won't rest simply because I am not meant to. I never liked a single show, a single house, a single book. It shifted like the sand in an hour glass and all it needed was to be turned upside down again. I disagreed and told you my heart would be yours forever, I would wonder around your desert for the rest of my life and filter your oasis with my love. I knew that my mythical songs will always be sung for you. I was wrong. You were right. You were always right. And do you remember how we pretended to walk on those