Category: Creative Writing
6:17pm free write
(honestly it took me way longer to make this than it did to free-write)
I will miss this, I really will.
Sitting outside on my deck writing, laptop warm against my thighs and notebook pressing into the crook of my elbow. My dog sits near me, chewing on a leaf or something (as he does) as a gentle breeze, barely able to even be called a breeze, touches my shoulder and the tips of the trees’ leaves. I can hear the crickets starting to chirp through my headphones– there’s was a heat stroke in the Bay Area this weekend and the last of it seems to be ebbing away now. The fog is finally starting to roll back in over the mountains to cool down the air, saving my breath.
Looking forward, home.
Just as poet E.E. Cummings carries another’s heart within his own, I carry my home with me. Continue reading
we wander the neighborhood.
When I get back from school, I don’t take off my shoes until I’ve walked my dog. We venture up and down through our hilly neighborhood, stopping occasionally while he sniffs at various bushes along the sidewalk. Sometimes we run, and my lungs will be screaming for air after reaching the top of a steep slope, but the rush of moving so quickly is worth it. Continue reading
overwhelming.
I didn’t quite expect my senses to be so overwhelmed. Continue reading
seeing stars
I only have myself to blame for my endlessly running mind.
I can’t remember how long we stood there in the dying grass under the pulsing sky, feeling the breeze brush our noses as the snuffling noises of Rory’s two dogs filled our ears.
It seemed to be a good night for wishes, because Rory must have spotted at least five different shooting stars. It’s nice to know that the universe might hear our desire for response once in a while.
We saw satellites, too. They reminded me of the water bugs that skim the surfaces of ponds, balancing precariously on nothing but tension between water molecules. Continue reading
(literal) train of thoughts.
I have taken Caltrain twice in my lifetime.
As I sat and watched the landscape fly by outside the window, I was also extremely conscious of those surrounding me. The man with the bright orange bike and even brighter shirt. The girl with a tired-looking book-bag slung across her shoulder, headphones in and eyes closed. The young boy chattering excitedly to someone that looked to be his mother- “Mommy, train run fast? Train fly far!” Continue reading
Letters to friends at the end of junior year
Dear 1,
