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Quiet winter night - Carol Collette

Canadian , b. 1945 -

Watercolour and Etching , 8 x 5 in.

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Crying everyday because my dog's getting older everyday and losing him in this life and having to wait until the next life seems so long and despairing.

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2024

I’m not a teenager anymore. Love doesn’t always find me like I think and hope it might. But it’s there in the good ways fighting the good fight. I’m nothing much to miss, less to love, and always a forgotten phone call away. And I want something I cannot name- the grand gestures, the flowers or something sweet because “I thought of you”, the fingers in my hair, light mindless touches. Someone will want to dance with me one day and I won’t have to beg. That someone will very well be my drunk best friends in a karaoke bar. And the only thing I know right now is that the love I want is the love I have to give. And in other ways it’ll see me through. I wanted to be a gardener and I now live in a jungle. I’ll sit down to finish my novel one day and I’ll realize I’ve written five. The breath of morning will be a balm to my skin and all the light that finds me will make me glow anew like a walking dream. The woman sweeping her porch needs to know that her simple task brings me a sweet tea olive nostalgia. And I’ll remember to compliment her smile. And all the smiles. I’ll be the love I feel is missing and let it all flow through me like a river. I cannot be sad for anything I haven’t first searched my own shelf for. God will give me all that I need in serendipitous time. I’ll diffuse lavender oil for slow easy nights. I’ll whisper candlelit prayers with longing. New days will come and coffee talks and morning songs and evenings painting and all the letters I’ll write and maybe send. The world has yet to show all its cards. I won’t be scared of loving life. I’ll love it unconditionally, without a thought of return. I’ll love it and I’ll mean it and everything will be as it needs to be. 

Erica D. A.

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Dark

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The End of the F***ing World (2017)

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do you ever wake up and just crave intimacy? Like you’d give anything to have woken up with someone’s arms around you and to be able to feel their breath on your neck? Idk i’m lame

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Fair Haired Lady Hope

She is insatiable, intangible.

Slips through fingers like silk.

Ceaselessly flowing, never to be held.

She is a dancing, bare foot hypocrite.

She screams, whispers, dares, but hides.

I am captivated by her everything.

I am bound by curiosity and spite.

I am in her mercy and seek her every night.

She evades me like a ghost, yet

Remnants of her appear to me

In vapor like form, like preludes

Of a potential neon life.

Does she ever stay with anybody long?

This I want to know. Am I the failure?

Or is she the ubiquitous mess,

My bitter sweet omni losing song.

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The Flapper, by FX Leyendecker, appeared on the cover of Life, February 2, 1922

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