Self
The handwriting was not hers.
I gave some old stories a little love and polish. Find them here. They are my personal favourites.
The handwriting was not hers.
There’s always a jar you shake too hard with people like you.
The bride and groom won’t be needing it.
The good kind of quick, if there’s a good kind.
The grain of the wood traced the scar exactly.
I choose them both.
Let the phone tell the truth when your mouth can’t.
You’re asking was it the fish that started the dreams. Sure. The fish.
The back door sticks on humid mornings.
I log none of this. That is new.
She opened her mouth.
The dog is frozen against the fence post.