I stand inside your skeletal remains, a different heart beats against its breastplate, a different set of organs is sheltered by the ribcage. You wouldn't recognize it anymore, but it still feels like home. That's the beauty of being left behind, though they never mention it. I can watch it all be moulded and shaped again, death and rebirth and whatnot. It's almost disturbingly beautiful, as if I became your protege, left to maintain the body you left behind, to feed it, water it, and ultimately grow to love it. I never expected to turn into you, but as I leave this body, my body, behind, planting seeds for someone else to water and grow, I

16. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

15. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

14. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

14.

She was supposed to be at her grandmother's house right now. Her mother had worried about putting her on the train alone, but her father insisted that she would be fine. He used to do it all the time as a kid, the conductors always make sure that the kids get off at the right stop and they usually give them candy. Her parents' flight left at six in the morning, and they dropped her off for the five o'clock train. They kissed her on the head and told her that everything would be alright. It was early in the morning, in fact, she had never been up this early before. She tried her best to stay awake on the train, but by the third stop, she was

13. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

13.

People will throw away the strangest things. Just yesterday I found a pair of nearly new baby slippers, several books, and a box of pasta that had never been opened (don't they know that this stuff never goes bad?). Usually I just throw this all into the back of my truck, I can only keep the really impressive things, otherwise my house would end up looking like a smaller version of the dump. The problem is, I can't stop taking the things she throws out. Yes, I have yet to see her face in person, but I know so much about her already. She can cook beautifully, I've seen her leftovers, and she has been to so many places. Just last week she thre

12. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

12.

Peter had heard stories about the market, but he had never been. Nicolette said that her father got a CD player for giants there. He had a special collection of black CDs that were bigger than dinner plates. Peter had been to their house before, and he had seen them for himself, when the songs began and ended it made scratchy noises. Caroline said that there was a tent filled with nothing but rugs, and she was sure that one of them was a flying carpet, but it was in disguise. His parents had never taken him. They didn't believe in buying things that had already been used and worn out and they said that there was no such thing as giants or fl

11. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

11.

i. I worried that we might run out of things to say, so I wrote the beginning of sentences on the palm of my hand so that I might see them when I reached for my coffee. They rubbed off against your hand, and I didn't notice until the end of the night. ii. I wrote poems about you before and during, I'm not sure what will happen after, or if either of us will even notice when the after begins. iii. It was as if your words and my words were strings that kept getting tangled in the air between us. We spent hours pulling them apart and could slip away once we were both free. Something made us do it again the next week. iv. They say that when it

10 by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

10

The kitchen was hot enough as it was, but when I returned from the shower, he had a frying pan out with something that sizzled and smelled disgusting. I sat down at the table and poured myself some orange juice from the refrigerator. "Good morning, Sweetheart, would you like some eggs and sausage?" "Not this morning, just the juice," I said, glossing over the newspaper sitting on the table. "Are you sure? I made extra for you?" "Then just put it in a container and stick it in the fridge, Jonathan," I exhaled. "Are you alright, honey?" "Fine," I said, standing up. "I've got to get ready to go to work." "You don't have to leave for anoth

9. by xthe-eleanorx, literature

Literature

9.

I don't remember how we officially met, though I suppose that's how most friendships work. I have the memories from before, where we were eight years old staring at each other through open windows, unblinking, as if we were afraid that the other might disappear. I have memories after, when he would knock on my door, a welcome distraction from my piano practice, lips stained green from a sour apple sucker that he paid a nickel for at the tiny grocery shop around the corner. It was almost as if we woke up one morning and mutually decided to become inseparable and never looked back. Childhood is funny that way. One afternoon, we sat silently on

2 3

9 Next