Posted in flash fiction

Life Is But The Moments

Life is but the moments we make in it.

At least that’s what Edna thought she remembered him saying now. Sixty years on she supposed exact verbiage no longer really mattered.

The plane rattled down the runway. Edna watched the early morning horizon slip by. These moments always reminded her of her mother’s silk scarf floating away on the wind. The way it twisted, trying to escape the inevitable hand of fate it was dealt, and the way her mother ran after it, crimson nails just barely missing the straggling threads.

Had she known then how some people were capable of so much more … had she understood the intricacies of human emotions, fits of rage and the abilities of people to do things outside the realm of “normal” … Like kill others or freeze moments …

Edna settled back into her seat. It took so much out of her now, she figured she only had a few more times in her.

A few more things to see, to record.

A few more moments to live, to love.

Instinctively she reached into the old leather messenger bag, relishing in the old smell of cigars and aftershave, and patted the worn inner pocket. Her notebook, a verifiable tome of time, was secure inside.


I know this doesn’t really make sense in it’s brief form but it was something that struck me and I wanted to share here. 

Posted in stream of consciousness

I Can’t Keep Count

I almost didn’t post this because I feel like I’m getting kind of achy breaky hearty in my writing lately. I had a moment of “I should be more … positive, upbeat, happy, candle-lit dinners and walk on the beachy … whatever” but then I thought “no, this is what came out, this is what it is.” This blog, for me, is for more impromptu, practice/refining type writing so I’ve always told myself that what inspiration gets put out here is what it is.

WordPress Daily Prompt – Atmospheric

I can’t keep count
Of the moments
That have passed me by.
Each one sinking in like a hammer
To the heart,
Cracking the spirit,
Threatening to tear the soul.
It’s a mystery to me
Why I am pulled so.
Moments in time,
Easily forgotten.
But I can’t keep count
Of the dreams I have
Or the nights I lie awake
When I feel that stirring,
Churning and rising,
From the places I strained
To hide it.
I can’t keep count
Of the mysteries
You inspire in me;
Of the memories
You awaken in me,
Like ancient spirits
Springing forth,
Speaking a language
Cryptic and romantic.
Mostly I just can’t keep count
Of the moments
I wish you were here
With me.


Check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, there are new posts for you to read!

Posted in stream of consciousness

Sum of Our Moments

We travel these paths, burdened with purpose and prose, in hopes that we’ll not long travel alone.

In your eyes I find a spirit, a soul, a beacon that flashes through the darkness of my night.

A thousand words I know but not one that can express the way my soul reaches for yours.

Are our arms enough, will we be able to reach, when our spirits entangle across this space?

In my bones I ache, every inch of my being screams to stay, rattling my steps as I back away.

Because we’re just people, different, incomplete and the sum of our moments is lost on me.