A Writer’s Muse.

“One day he will find you. He will touch you and you will feel a lifetime of indifference— of apathy melt away in a single moment. And you will ache for him. You will love him, in the way you walk a tightrope— in the way people learn to fall asleep in a war zone. You will bleed for him until the day he is gone. You will bleed for him every day after that. The time will pass and you will feel robbed— and you will grow bitter. You will ask why, but you won’t get an answer. And that is when the words will come.”

 – Memories by Lang Leav.

Numbers.

“And it wasn’t my choice to love you but it was mine to leave. I don’t think the moon ever meant to be a satellite, kept in loving orbit, locked in hopeless inertia, destined to repeat the same pattern over and over— to meet in eclipse with the sun— only when the numbers allowed.”

 – Memories by Lang Leav.

Stowaway.

“I love the way he looks at me. Shy and half-cocked as though he is caught off guard, like he is retracing his steps to remember all the ways to make me smile. He brings me flowers every Sunday and tells me stories about mermaids and sirens with their sharp claws and beguiling lips. He says I remind him of the sea and attaches me to a metaphor I’ve never heard before, when I thought I must have heard them all. I think someone broke his heart once and now he can’t bear to be apart from the ocean. He said it’s strange how the smallest things can wreck a ship. Like a rock, or a wave, or a hairline crack in the hull. He calls me his little stowaway and he says it sadly, tenderly, as though I can sink him.”

 – Memories by Lang Leav.