short creepster justwrites

Adrien, like the only cloud in a vast, grey sky, like unlabeled spices in the cabinet and an empty blue bowl waiting on the counter, like a guitar pick talking to the sidewalk dirt, like charcoal drawings and a plastic bag that had cheese in it once, like those late nights that are really early mornings, like all you want to do is be, awake and talking, like watching the lights in the buildings across the street blink like time is passing faster, like letting wildflower seeds sprout where they land, like watching cigarette smoke fade in a city wind, like Adrien.

Holiday, like everything you ever knew, like a sepia-toned photograph of smiling strangers in party hats, like fingers snapping, like lettuce waiting to be picked, like a garden that lost its rows intentionally, like looking at tree bark closer than ever before, like really seeing it, like your head, light with joy, like you've been kissed unexpectedly, like saxophones calling to each other at dusk, like candlelight dancing on the ceiling, like silence feet dancing across the floor, like lying on the roof counting the stars, like the roof is so high traffic in the street looks like stars too, like Holiday.

Sam, like throwing spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks, like being barefoot on cool mornings, like finger painting like you're five again, like fresh grapes in the middle of the day, like lining up pens according to color so you can mix them together again, like jumping rope inside, like perching on a branch because you want to be a bird, like speaking as loudly as possible on a stage with no audience, like laughter for the sake of laughter, like looking forward to the sunrise because it's never in grey scale, like Sam.

Susan, like hot chocolate, like hot tea, like iced tea in the perfect weather, like going outside without sunglasses, like learning to taste the air you breathe, like the first time you're running so fast you think there's wind, like when you stop and see the world is hardly moving, like watching the sky after spinning around for five minutes, like deciding how to use a dandelion wish like you've never had one before, like leaving the dirt under your fingernails, like embracing the bottoms of your feet, like realizing that swimming is like flying but slower and more free, like Susan.

Layne, like trying to see the story but only seeing shadows on the walls, like days that aren't hot or cold, like late, late evening the moment before night arrives, like quiet music that becomes part of the silence, like bold black shapes against white paper, like tracing the lines on your palms in ink like they'll tell you where you're going, like trying to form the fog into birds, like a moments someone sees who you are, like empty picnic tables resting on a rainy day, like sitting on the floor and thinking about nothing, like mist gathering at your front door, like your pulse in your throat and a camera in your hand, like Layne.

Tyler, like finding an unplanned field of secret daisies, like eating as many cookies as you want because you can, like fireworks in slow motion with no sound, like strangers offering you a place to sleep, like curling up in six quilts like a kitten named Goddess, like a poem in your pocket and a hand in your hand, like meandering down tree-shaded lanes and soaking up the quiet, like lying in grass, cool green against bare legs, like early summer evenings when the sun doesn't want to leave, like the crevices that form on your cheeks after lifetimes of smiling, like folding paper frogs like knowing they'll come to life, like Tyler.

Abi, like faraway waterfalls echoing against the rock, like lines of henna on your arms because there was nothing else to do, like tying knots in string and letting them stay forever, like a crack lacing the window pane like a spider's web, like how we realize nothing's a weed unless we want it to be, like embracing petals wherever they unfold, like using duct tape to fix torn hems, like seeing airplanes while your feet are on the ground, like marker rubbing off on your hands while you draw, like realizing how many shades of green there are, like walking a different way to work just because it's Tuesday, like watching fruit swell after a downpour, like letting the rain touch your skin and turn to steam, encasing you, like Abi.