literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Girl, The Penguin, and the Stranger
Coral set her bags down on the worn, salty gray planks of the fishing pier. Ships were docked up and down its length, but none of them looked like a ferry. She cursed her guidebook and the eagerness with which she’d made plans for this solo trip. This isn’t like you, she told herself. You aren’t adventurous. You aren’t the kind of woman who travels alone. You barely speak the language. Why go somewhere remote in a foreign country? What were you thinking?
By WordSmithtress5 years ago in Humans
Fair Winds, Fair Game
Dave stared bitterly as the 44-foot white and blue Catalina sailboat tacked toward the horizon taking his future with it. Fighting back tears, he turned away and began the long walk back to his car. He and Reilly had been competitors for many years, but Dave always viewed their relationship as a friendly rivalry. Until now. He never imagined that Reilly would resort to such petty trickery to beat him, but there had never been this much money on the line before.
By Sean Johnson5 years ago in Humans
A Glimpse of Hope
You’re only three feet away. The only things physically separating us are the table we bought on our first trip to IKEA, the chipped plates and mottled silverware that are smudged with the remnants of dinner, and the heavy, unquiet air. You’re only three feet away. Why does it feel like there’s an ocean between us?
By Stephanie Nielsen5 years ago in Humans
Not meant for that
He had heard it said that ships are safe in the harbor, but ships were not built for that. These words both encouraged and frightened him. Tom had long known he was built for greater things, but fear and an innate sense of responsibility kept him anchored at shore.
By Dorothy Prophet5 years ago in Humans
The Night Race
We spot it heading out, a fourteen-foot sloop, one mast, two sails, a solitary figure in the stern, the reflection of the sun bouncing back and forth between thickening sky and water, blinding us to any distinctive features. But the joy with which the small craft leaps forward, the smart handling of her sails, lift our sedentary hearts with the promise of the afternoon. As a wave smacks the hull, we taste the sea, feel its froth on our cheeks, and stand up from our camp chairs, move near the edge of the headlands, and stand moored together with binoculars and heavy slickers. Suddenly we're not birders anymore, we are sailors again.
By KateC Gaston5 years ago in Humans
