Raw Goods

the end of the story

just because. just because the sentences don't end, like the landscapes. because the mix of how she moves from thoughts to deeds, place to past, memories to wish. it doesn't have to be that way, the words we said didn't have to be the words we said, the way he carries his shoulders and head don't begin to describe the longing that resides inside, when the sound of a whisker scratches the surface of a page he's reading in the back room, where kitchen tiles stack on the paint-spattered counter and mountains peer through the cracked windows just enough to let us know that there's lots of places we haven't gone yet, so don't stop.

posted by judy j @ 1:34 PM