Courtney Johnson
Bio
I’m a mom of two beautiful boys. I’ve been writing since I was a child. I figured I may as well write something that someone has the chance to read.
Stories (13)
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An Open Letter to my Ex
There’s so much to say, I don’t know where to start. So I guess I’ll just pick a spot and jump. I think about you sometimes, but not in the way you’re probably imagining. You see, I still have the tattoo. I’m working on having it covered, but, for now, it’s there, just like I thought you’d be. I see it in the mirror and I can’t help but wonder about you.
By Courtney Johnson8 months ago in Confessions
Emptying
Little hands reach for her. Little feet follow her. Light pours out of her very being. She is soft, comfort, guidance, and peace; and yet she often has none of these for herself. She gives, and she gives. And she asks for nothing. For everything that she pours into them, she pours out of herself. She cannot refill. She does not want to.
By Courtney Johnson3 years ago in Fiction
To My Future Daughter-In-Law
Dear Daughter, There are a few things I want you to know, and a few things I want to ask of you. First, I want you to know that I love you. I’m praying for you even now. You may not even be born yet. My baby is three. He’s a very long way from being ready for you, but I promise I’m doing my best to prepare him. I’m doing my best to raise a good, honest, hard working man who will put you first. You deserve nothing less than to be his number one priority. I won’t lie, even though he’s still so small, it’s already hard to think about not holding that position for myself. It's selfish, I know. I hope you can forgive me.
By Courtney Johnson4 years ago in Families
Ronnie Joe
I wrote a paragraph, and I erased it. I wrote another, and I changed it. Over and over, I kept starting again. I wanted to tell a story about a singular event, something significant, but, then I realized that wouldn’t be right. You see, that’s not the kind of person he is. He isn’t one big event; he’s a bunch of tiny moments gathered into a big, lumpy heap and held with dabs of glue, bits of string, and a whole lot of love. Like a giant, well-worn teddy-bear whose stuffing has gotten lumpy and whose fur has been rubbed the same way so many times that it’s just cloth now, he stands as a beacon for me and for many people who have loved him. That’s who he is, so that’s how I’ll tell his story, in snippets of memory tenuously held together by a common denominator, by my dad.
By Courtney Johnson4 years ago in Families
