She looked at him and saw herself. In uninhibited glory. And walked, with graceful assurance and an air of confidence that only ever comes from carrying the knowledge that you’re loved, absolutely – accepted.
And she looked at him, and she smiled as he called her beautiful.
And he looked at her, and he saw himself.



I freeze time everyday. Passing people clutching phones with desperate fingers and dead eyes, replaced by the reel of social media feeds. Thumbs–up, down. Up down. Nothing to say to one another except “see me” until someone does and their attention is quantified as a wedding ring and and a white dress, black tux, and a kiss that carries the promise of stability and relevance and there’s nothing else we could ever hope for, really. Approximately everything else is attainable. It’s all very satisfying.

Piano Man

He’s old. Legitimately. And if I were to see him on the street, with his walker, or at Denny’s at 7:00 am sharp, I probably wouldn’t think anything of it. But he’s in this coffee shop at 9:30pm playing the piano with so much grace and experienced practice.

It’s a great skill, really. I wonder how old he was when he started playing. And if he was young enough for it to be an attractive thing for his romantic interests. I imagine a time lapse as he’s sitting at the piano, a young man initially playing at social events–people from the 50’s swinging skirts and tapping toes around him. Then he turns slowly shrinking as his back starts to hunch in on itself, age touching fingers leaving spots and pulling at skin, and now here he is. Interesting how our hobbies become us. Carry us through life.

I need something like that. I’m young. All I do is think, and my thoughts are barely carrying me through now.


You know those computer graphic models of future buildings and the fake people the computer programs put inside? The fake people that walk around to display how people will fit, their movements are rigid, methodical and mechanical. Forced
I think of us. And how when these buildings, or theme parks, or whatever are built, we’ll be moving in them as well. Our movements will be methodical, and it seems so weird – the predictability of it all.