Summer Sketch 1Bebe's calm guitar, the swishing of water from a glass, the plain and simple declaration A mi me gustas tu does more than restart the memory, it recreates every physical sensation and emotion ofSummer Sketch 1 by ~Tupelo-Thief
the early summer feel of waking up to a room darker than it was before I fell asleep reading, a cool breeze blowing aside my curtains, revealing pink and gold outside and maybe the song of a mockingbird. But usually it's so quiet and soft; my sheets smell like fresh linen and sleep and my bare legs are cool from the breeze. I inhale deeply and am content.
My Memory's Museum: Winter"I have to rake the leaves," she says, looking past me, out the windows to the front yard.My Memory's Museum: Winter by ~Tupelo-Thief
"I can rake them."
"We do it together."
She doesn't put on a coat. I grab my hoodie and white cap. She rakes the leaves on the sidewalk and on the grass by the street, where the leaves are fairly muddy. She's never minded getting her hands messy. I rake the ones on the lawn, which is slightly elevated above the street. All the leaves come from a medium sized tree which stands in the grass by the street. The color is shocking, the richest, brightest yellow I've ever seen. I look up and, through the trees nearly bare middle branches, see pe
Ring of Fire wandering late night again, electric white humming in the air before the gray rise of dawn. A breeze drifts on by; it brings leaves and the reminder that it'll soon be winter. He looks down at his hands, wishing he had gloves. His hands are like a skeleton's; he's never been thin or scrawny, always a skeleton. He never hated that about himself until recently, until she said "You're built just the way I like," and further bound her to him. How, he doesn't know; it wasn't much of a compliment, just an expression of her selfishness, really, but it somehow makes him believe that he has something, anything, with her. He knows that she's a nRing of Fire by ~Tupelo-Thief