life
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“You are the smooth stone in my pocket—forgotten until touched, a memory I bury yet carry, shaping my walk with quiet sorrow and stubborn hope.” bb grey Yesterday,while exchanging small words with an acquaintance—a fleeting face in the blur of days—I slipped my hand into my pocket,and there you were:a smooth pebble,forgotten beneath the jumble…
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One extreme to another,we move like shadows in a hall of mirrors,chasing reflections of what never was. I thought you loved me—but love is a language I misread,syllables slipping between regretand the point of diminishing returns. We all make mistakes,excuses have their uses,like slicing a cake into piecestoo small to taste. Shaking a hand, clenching…
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Capaldi weeps for nothing.I shuffle forward in the queue of the dead,never once lifting my head,feeling I should create for something. Emperor penguins,a waiting room—life and death strung on a clothesline,attire we wear to tear yet still look fine. Morning clock strikes noon.Motors purr, then roar, then still.Now becomes soon.Restlessness makes for ill. Scurry…
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“Running is the greatest metaphor for life: You get out of it what you put into it.”— Mishka Shubaly It’s the Sunday of leaving,half-full boxes, half-measured haste,the weight of what was once worth somethingnow vanished without a trace. I have stood too long at the line,Get set… then silence, then bang—false starts that stole my…
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“Life, it’s falling, stumbling, leaving marks…“ Life is a series of snippets—like 30-second commercials selling us narratives about ourselves, to ourselves, and to others. Saturday, Rainless. The day hung heavy with the promise of rain, yielding only sweat. I had been to Los Angeles, left a message, texted early, and answered your call with silence…
BB Grey--musings 