Drunk on serotonin cocktails, up, always with a twist, midnight to sunrise tonics of choice. In dreams we visit these places. Reclaiming forfeited promises. It’s a wonder – purest nostalgia for places unseen, experiences unexperienced. I invent memories, what we would have done in years un-lost. I build by force the life you left from… Continue reading #Hiraeth
Category: poetry
Hours, Yet
Close your eyes and believe once. What’s the harm in the latest of afternoon sun, white gold. The days are getting longer again, after all. There was a day when everything changed. And then another. They come, and come, and still the light is golden. It’s quiet, blessedly so. All fervor in abatement.… Continue reading Hours, Yet
We Tell Ourselves Tales
We tell ourselves tales, quivering emulsions of things we wish we said, or dreamt for, or dream of— before suspended hours dissolve into day— where we abide these best and worst versions, blended iterations of fiction and nonfiction. Precision proves a poor editor, falling under memory’s sway, crediting a redacted narrative. Interpretation is your best… Continue reading We Tell Ourselves Tales
caroline ridgway 