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witticasterConsider it kismet, perhaps, or an aligning of the planets in some esoteric pattern. Call it the luck of a well-placed wish, made on a falling star, a plucked eyelash, or a digital clock burning 11:11 into the darkness. God's work, the devil's work, the work of some amorphous personification of the fates--
It doesn't matter how you parse it. Something has happened, and it has come about in such a complicated turn of events that the only way for most people to accept its occurrence is in calling it chance.
--
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I don't even know. as a bonus, two small writing-y things from oneword.com originally--you know, the site where they give you a word and a minute, and in return, you type? they aren't good, but I feel like holding onto them anyway.
apron
She wore it every day that she cooked, a yellow apron with faded blue patches with a design of white sprigs of flowers on them. I held it after she died, and it was cold; I couldn't remember what had once been for a moment, unable to recall her face, her smell, her voice.
For the first time since her eyes closed, I wept.
-
chase
"I can't do this right now," she said. "I just--I can't."
It was the same old story, the inability to commit, the fear to touch me. I held my breath, hoping she'd speak again, changing her mind, and knowing she wouldn't.
It doesn't matter how you parse it. Something has happened, and it has come about in such a complicated turn of events that the only way for most people to accept its occurrence is in calling it chance.
--
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I don't even know. as a bonus, two small writing-y things from oneword.com originally--you know, the site where they give you a word and a minute, and in return, you type? they aren't good, but I feel like holding onto them anyway.
apron
She wore it every day that she cooked, a yellow apron with faded blue patches with a design of white sprigs of flowers on them. I held it after she died, and it was cold; I couldn't remember what had once been for a moment, unable to recall her face, her smell, her voice.
For the first time since her eyes closed, I wept.
-
chase
"I can't do this right now," she said. "I just--I can't."
It was the same old story, the inability to commit, the fear to touch me. I held my breath, hoping she'd speak again, changing her mind, and knowing she wouldn't.
