What Might Have Been

A story about the Rose that longs for the Moon.

The moon was lonely.

It was a hard job lighting up the night sky while everyone else was sleeping.

One day the moon took up singing in order to pass the time. It sang songs about loneliness and sadness. Then it sang songs about love and loss.

A passing cloud heard the moon’s melancholy songs and stopped to give a listen. The moon’s song touched him so deeply that he began to weep, which of course formed rain. The rain washed over the bushes of roses causing one single-stemmed rose to feel refreshed and new.

“That feels good,” the rose said to the cloud. “Thank you.”

“Thank the moon,” the cloud replied. “Her sad songs made me cry. And every time I cry I feel lighter,” the cloud said as he floated away.

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When Was The Last Time

“You’re starting to lose the magic.”

“Excuse you?” She looked up at him, raised her eyebrows up a notch.

“Tell me, when was the last time you randomly walk into a flower shop? When was the last time you spend your time watching the sky turning from yolky orange into an indigo dusk? When was the last time you sit in a coffee shop, staring at all those passing cars outside and thinking about dusty dawn?”

Alaska paused. She opened her mouth but none came out of it. She inhaled deeply and stutters, “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you remember you used to talk poetry? You used to listen with your ears, your eyes, and your heart. You were a wizard with the pointy hat from across the road, happily playing with those cats and raindrops, you used to wave away your wand, saying hi to every passerby. You used to smile at strangers,” he continued as she stares blankly at the sky, avoiding his gaze.

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The Girl at The Café, A Short Story

The girl at the café didn’t notice me at first. She didn’t realize that I lived right around the corner and that I stopped by almost every day after work to stock up on enough caffeine or sometimes beers to get me through my homework, if not the evening as a whole. Sometimes I brought a friend or two along and we’d put our heads together and power through whatever new horror our bosses had assigned us that day. But I always seemed to get sidetracked and I’d prop my chin up in one hand and send more than subtle glances in her direction as the girl at the café steamed milk and stirred lattes, every now and then smiling her gentle, off-hand smile. It seemed like everyone knew, that everyone had heard how one day she would look over and see me and I’d walk right up to her and tell her how beautiful she was and how she haunted all my waking dreams with her quiet, mysterious air and deep green, thoughtful eyes. Although it didn’t exactly happen that way, it was pure chance the day we met, for even then she didn’t believe in fate.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?” I can’t help but say that I nearly choked on my Guiness Black Lager. She was speaking to me, noticing me, acknowledging my existence! And as I have yet to assume otherwise that people do anything but splutter like an idiot when first interacting with the love of their life, I feel like I set a good first example.

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