Written Through These Amber Eyes

writing

  • Part III

    “Some Summers Don’t Stay” Zeke always noticed the sun before the sky.  He would walk down the cracked sidewalks with his eyes half open, soaking in the golden light as if it could burn out the cold parts of him. That day in late June would be the day he met Scottie. On that day,

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  • Part II

    “Some Summers Don’t Stay” Fall moved in like someone who didn’t knock first. One morning, Scottie woke to the sound of wind pressing against the window, not violently, but insistently, as if it needed to be let in. Zeke was already gone.  There hadn’t been a final night, no drawn-out goodbye. Only a pause in

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  • Part I

    “Some Summers Don’t Stay” Late summer clung to the city like a whispered promise: warm sidewalks, the taste of sun in the air, long shadows cast by tired trees. It was the kind of warmth that made you believe nothing could leave you.  Scottie sat on the rusted park bench beneath a tall tree by

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  • Would You?

    Would you sit with it? I suppose that’s the real question, what causes the itch to fill the void between you cannot stand to sit with it. I sit with it too long perhaps…

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  • Moon / Sun

    Are both lives possible? The ocean tides pulled me to her smile; suddenly, I remembered it was always my laughter. My phone’s automatic memories bring me to our pictures; quickly, I recall how easy it was to let me leave. I’ve been gone for so long, but life finally feels better for me. It would

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  • Calm, Sincere, Controlled Silence

    The writer in the dark; these conversations always grow silent, as if they never took place, always accepting fate for what it is. People may or may not be as they seem, where actions matter more than words because words never align with actions.  Quickly, almost all at once, it feels as if you’re sitting

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  • Take Me To The Lakes

    I remember the weight of it all. How frozen I felt, how difficult it was to breathe in as if I-  It happened in the fall; the leaves were changing colors. People yearn for companionship in their cozy spaces. They long to be wrapped in the arms of even past lovers as the winter blues

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  • It’s Quiet

    At first, I wasn’t okay with the silence, which hurt even more because I had begged for it. I pleaded for someone to pull the rug out from beneath my feet. I manifested for something, anything, to throw me off my balance. I knew it would change many things. I knew my mind would often

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  • Unfinished Manuscript

    I fear writing this story incorrectly because every letter and every syllable is deeply intertwined with the way my heart and soul once were. The past tense matters here; it carries the weight of what was and what can never be again. If I had written this sooner and hadn’t waited, the story would still

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  • Closing Sips

    I feel it in the swing of my step as “Peter” blasts through my headphones. There’s a pep in my walk today, like I’m finally heading somewhere important even though it’s just a small-town café. After a year like this one, I deserve a break. The quiet. The peace. The past year was a test.

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