Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anais Vionet Nov 2023
It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern.

We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless.

I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed.

I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks.

I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive.

At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs.

musou = one of the darkest shades of black
Odd Odyssey Poet Sep 2023
Let me draw you as a sketch;
a portrait of all those beautiful memories

And we can make up some future events,
with like a little paint on a face-
All of the colours of a world, you and I have to face

Stick to my side like a rib bone,
say that you love me with your chest

Skip the conversation about rocking your world,
and let me skip a rock on your stream, when we're alone

Let's tell each other all our ***** little secrets;
the ones with a little dirt, to keep us down to earth

Going around trying to pick at each other;
I do prefer to fork, but I had a spoon to scoop you up

Let's build a mansion of all our dreams,
and live in their moments, before the disappear

I'll let you be the playlist of my day,
and let you be an airpod in my ear, to hear you clear

Tell me, what's your favourite part,
and I'll play out the role with a script written
out, by all the feelings I have at heart.
Fianzy Jan 2023
She said “if you’re such a romantic why do you keep on settling for the minimum?”

If she only knew how romance works, it’s getting lost in those mundane things.
It’s a look only you and him share.
It’s a shared connection.
In modern time it translates to taking one airpod and giving him the other.

Unfortunately, for a romantic who suffers the wrath of heartache more often than need be.
It is the moment we fall in love with, the high we chase in that feeling.

Goodness, I haven’t loved half the men I've been with but I sure loved how they made me feel.
I fall in love with sunsets and his smile.
Sky Feb 2020
the rain makes the asphalt look sad and pregnant.

i turn my head for one moment and a lonely 7 train skitters by, barely grazing my left ear. i close my eyes. i close my eyes because if you look, you get sad and that's how you lose. so i look down at my feet at the soft, shimmering asphalt instead

and i watch the train through the asphalt. it torpedoes by, one silver frame at a time, like a silent film still bobbing around in its chemical bath. i continue to watch, from a safe distance.

(its like looking out the window at the cars zooming by. its all fun and safe until you reach your hand out a bit too far and the next thing you know, some ******* car up and runs away with it.
its like marriage.)

except im in college and the wheels of the train never quite touch the ground, but hover, hover over like some kind of homeless intoxicated guardian angel stranded in a sprawling urban desert.

(he lies on top a one of those BigBellys, lies on his stomach, sandaled feet dangling just inches from the ground. blink blink, goes the BigBelly. Gabriel groans,
incomprehensible muttering)

and the train throws bleachy yellow squares of light throw themselves onto upon the pregnant asphalt in fits of just destructive laughter and when they hit the ground by that time they're already hugging themselves, hugging and shaking all over like fuuuuuuck, it's sooo cold in here (in my body!) each one of em murmuring in a foreign tongue about how someone keepzon etching street names into the bathroom walls

Thayer and Broadway at 3AM on a Wednesday morning is someone's oasis, mine for as long as i stand here, my mind stumbling back n forth from one airpod to the other as i feel like im sinking down, down into the soft squishy asphalt wit the weight of my backpack making my shoulders touch the floor wit my bleachy yellow head dangling from my neck as i blink needily / cravingly / searchingly at a sidewalk that stares back at me with the most deadest honest (to godest) blankest expression i ever seen on a no-body

and when i look into its eyes i can see myself but im standing in the  middle of Times Square and -- hey -- everythings looking up! but it cant be me because im here at Thayer and Broadway dangling my head and angling it AWAY from the passing train because if you look, you get sad, you think of home, and when you think of home, thats when you really know you've lost, not sure what but you've lost and you probably cant even actually go home after youve lost because, well, mother**** it you've lost and life just likes to call you a cuck and hit you in the throat like that

but i wouldn't know, i haven't gotten that far yet
here i am standing at the intersection of Thayer and Waterman. the rain glistens on the deserted streets and it's beautiful, but really, all i want to do is go home.

— The End —