Mingling with the Moon
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A Knock at the Door - The Ones Who Came to Utopia
The night was still until the knock came. It wasn’t the kind of knock you hear on a wooden door. This one rang out metallic, hollow, like iron struck from inside. Adam froze where he stood, his friends gathered around the empty building near the parking lot.
By Mingling with the Moon 3 months ago in Fiction
To the heart, who got what it wanted:
Hey you, If you are asking; yes, it still hurts. Every goodbye, every ending. You still feel it deeply. But don’t worry, you have perfected that introduction you were working on and were so nervous about. Let the anxious one in you be reassured, you hold yourself better now.
By Mingling with the Moon 8 months ago in Poets
I want to be so many things
Once bright orange, nasturtiums will wlit and then turn golden, but we won’t notice. Bold crimson hibiscus hues will leak and fold inwards, resiliently reddening before turning pink or brown, but we won't notice. The bougainvillea will deadhead themselves before the wind comes to get them, while the rose petals dance on their way out and the jacarandas cremate themselves where we walk; and we will likely - still - not notice.
By Mingling with the Moon 8 months ago in Poets
To the heart, who got what it wanted:
Hey you, If you are asking; yes, it still hurts. Every goodbye, every ending. You still feel it deeply. But don’t worry, you have perfected that introduction you were working on and were so nervous about. Let the anxious one in you be reassured, you hold yourself better now.
By Mingling with the Moon 8 months ago in Poets
