I’ve been here before. You’ll make it safe through the woods if you stay on the path, that’s the rule, but there was never a path here in the first place. Dark branches tangle overhead and the trees are different this time around but the shadows are the same, thick and cloying and very very quiet. Continue reading “Red Riding Hood, lost”
I used to dream about flying all the time.
Looking out an upper-story window. Walking the ridge of a hill or hiking along the canyon with my family. Leaning over the arc of the bridge. The urge to jump was always there, coiled in my throat.
I moved up in life into the Overachieving section of Euclid, set fire to the Gearage driveway, and drew blood in the parking lot.
It’s been an interesting week.