You touched my wrist (or how it began) …

I caught it, fleeting as it was. A rare moment where you know exactly what is happening to you, and how. It was only this on that first night but I felt your hand on my wrist all the way home and I sat up and stared at the wall until the moon disappeared. ItContinue reading “You touched my wrist (or how it began) …”

This is a work of fiction … and yet …

I have always believed that in every beginning, an ending is written. ┬áThe idea that right from the first moment the story expands to include all that will come from the encounter, and then simply waits for you to catch up. It is a desire to believe in the fates, in muses, in gods throwingContinue reading “This is a work of fiction … and yet …”