Inner musings of a Wayward Writer
She sits in her car, looking out at the empty field and milky blue sky, but not really seeing them. Her eyes find some point on the hillside. They linger there for many minutes, staring blankly at that invisible spot in the serene hills, while something behind her eyes moves with the strength of a …
I’ve wasted years thinking about them, picturing how they look in as much detail as I can summon, and yet the harder I try the more elusive they become. I can see them before me, clear and mesmerizing. Whether my eyes are open or closed, I can still perceive them just beyond my reach, drenched …
Writing on Tangents