General

The time I last saw you, just one day in a lifetime, surrounded by others - I wanted to take you by the hand and lead you away. I wanted to walk with you, talk with you, but we must follow the rules of social decorum. You are my friend, a kindred spirit, but the opposite gender. I don't want to steal you, cheat or lie - just to be able to tell you that I love you and know that you love me.

That day, that breezy day, I let your voice soak in, your words, the way your eyes meet mine and don't turn away. I almost drown in your smile. I did want to be there, yet you are the only one I truly came to see. Sometimes the very medicine we seek in life is always out of reach, as are you. I wish you had been my brother, then who would ask questions? Who would mind if we spent time together? Why is love treated in this dichotomous way? Do you love this person or that one? What if it isn't "or" but "and"? Don't other languages, such as Greek, have many words for love to define which type? Why are we stuck with only one? With you it isn't "eros," I have a lover, so maybe it's "philia," or "ludus"? All I know for sure is that it qualifies as "pragma" because this has been going on too long to be anything else.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 30, 2016.
General

The house was identical to it's neighbours right down to the shade of paint on the iron balconies, but I knew which one was Edna's right away. Whereas every other dwelling was simply the towering black brick, hers was a riot of blooms in every shade. Along the rail hung boxes and below were hanging baskets. So without even checking the number on the door I wrapped the brass lion knocker three times and waited. In a brief lull of the London traffic I heard the approaching of footfalls. The door opened a crack and a hazel eye peeked out.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 26, 2015.
General

On the wall that has been crumbling these past twenty years, Toby sits, letting his eyes roam over the graffiti. With the finger of his right hand he feels the cracks and the pits made by so many seasons of hail and rain. Today, like the sidewalk weeds, they are dry. His left hand tightens involuntarily around the candy bars, making the wrappers crinkle. They had seemed like such a great idea in the store, something they had eaten when they were kids, back when they were just two spotty teens throwing aeroplanes at the back of class. What if in the last two decades she'd become someone else, prim and well-to-do? For all her antics, Gale was the smart one. What if she just looks at them like they're cheap candy and chocolate. Come to think of it they're kind of hard to chew and they make a mess. Before he can stow them behind the wall he hears her, "Toby! Is that Curly Wurly's?! Awesome!" It's Gale, an older version, but still in jeans, casual, smiling...