journal entry
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This Home is Not Ours
I wrote this on the back of a dirty napkin left on the bench after a storm: This isn’t the bed we shared. These sheets never knew our passion. And this home is not the one we once fantasized of. These walls hold no memories of our words, hold no understanding of what we meant Continue reading
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Homebrew, Blonde Roast
these thoughts percolate, a fresh pot of some homebrew, blonde roast sitting, steaming in a chipped cup that’s seen better days. better days before its handle needed mending, before clotted adhesive molted out of the base, glossed over with a poor attempt of camouflage. Continue reading
Chapin City Blues 