* I and fellow author/ninja Jenn Samson are co-starting a small writing group at my house on Monday nights. We don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re going to have fun doing it. You’re welcome to come, Monday’s at 7.
Caden went down early tonight, and I have time to write. I found a good prompt on a literary blog, and I’m writing this short something straight into the post, minimal editing for grammar and spelling. Enjoy.
Prompt: “The walls between us mean…”
The walls between us mean I see only part of you. One part, or two, at a time, and I only see the new bits when you move, you offer, you initiate. You’re the catalyst, I am limited.
I saw your mouth one day, and a bit of your red hair. I remember that you have white and uneven teeth. The next day I saw the skin on the inside of your arm, as you waved goodbye, or hello? You have freckles from the uv exposure.
The wall between us means I will never meet your eyes, or hold your hand. You choose the path of my dungeon, so I can never escape. I might catch a glimpse of you one day, looking at me, but the way the walls shift, I doubt it. It would take too much coincidence, too much favor from fate that I know I’ve run out of.
One day I caught a smell of your perfume through the wall as it creaked into it’s new position. You smelled like clean air, and ozone muddled water. Which makes sense, for someone from Outside. The walls between us mean I will never see the fresh dirt, or a rainy day, they won’t risk it.
I wait when I know the schedule means new walls, a chance at hearing your laugh, or seeing the movement of your hands. I’ll keep watching, keep counting, keep tracking the maze. I’ll always hope for the walls between us, and you, to show me something new. I’ll keep building you like a puzzle in my mind, until I die.
I live to see your heart.