How to live a meaningful life, according to Frankl
Literary style inspiration: The Magic Mountain
How to live a better life, according to Ray Bradbury
Always look up: Learning how to wonder
Rolling with James Joyce on an Irish hill
Ode to the bookish girls
Tea with Frances Towers
I fell in love…
I fell in love darling — I know, it’s terrible. I don’t know how it happened. Needless to say, I had to let him and his protruding ears go.
He never did anything I asked but he did turn the mundane into the extraordinary. Everything he did, all that he touched with his tattooed hands, I wanted to do it, to love it. He made the world pleasant — nothing was weary and grey anymore.
I started being away from the village, from the woods, from my world and getting caught up in his instead. I would don skirts and playsuits, and heels, lots of heels, for him, and no one else. He would talk to me in measurable time while making plans that felt as tangible as the protruding green veins on his arms.
I had almost forgotten my world completely as I became wholly engrossed in his, when one night, the heel of my shoe broke while we were pacing around the city. I hadn’t felt the cold cobble stone pavement of anywhere in a while, and looking around me, I could see how everything was lit up with every possible light, except that of the moon.
I kissed him fervently; his cheeks were cold, despite donning a thick beard. I told him he was the only one I could ever love so naturally, we had to let each other go. I walked away soon after, seeking the woods and the light of the moon.
Story credits: Kris Micallef for the image.