Photo by Raphael Schaller on Unsplash
The floorboards creak a song full of sorrow in rhythm with my tipping toes.
Does she know of my late night escapades? My trysts with the telly? My wild romps with written words?
How each night I fall in love with ghosts of page and screen as I desperately cling to the notion that all is well.
I fear I have fallen in love again. A passing fancy, surely, but there it is nonetheless. Not so much a deep dive--a light splash, perhaps--skimming and thumbing my way through the thoughts and words of another; never intended for me, but I devour them all the same.
About the Creator
NJ Reed
Therapy, work, and passion--but which is it most?
(I'm not a robot, but I'm also not Richard Brautigan)
Comments (5)
Thanks all for the kinds words. It's been a journey putting my work into the world and seeing it resonate with others is a joy.
This is fantastic.
Lost in stories, a wondrous place to be.
Hey, just want to let you know I shared this poem in my recent story: https://shopping-feedback.today/journal/poppy-s-preferences-pt4%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cdiv class="css-w4qknv-Replies">
This is beautiful. The Last paragraph especially hit me