Flaw Salad

“Sometimes I’m the worst,” I say, and concern overtakes his face. “Have you been the worst with me?” “No.” Maybe if I had, I might still be a good person. I might not be so bad. But he’s seen so little. He’s really seen nothing at all. “What do you do when you’re the worst?”… — read more

Ah, so you find the ones in shadow, do you? You look for the struggling, withered lot that could use a little light? You bring your tiny flame over, and you think how grateful they should be for this taste of warmth, for this soft, glowing orb? But you are not the sun. At best,… — read more

I was hoping to find a wreckage, maybe. Couldn’t you have been a mirage, so many months ago, when I thought you were everything, everything, everything? Couldn’t it have been a stupor, some drunken mistake? No, it was clear then as it is now. Your kind eyes and beautiful face and infectious laugh, the warmth… — read more

And as the soapy water washes idle ink from your skin, you long for it to reach deeper, to cleanse so many stray marks they’ve penned upon your soul. — read more

He was not the kind of man to take emasculation in stride. Unlike smaller men with uneven shoulders and bulbous, lolling heads on thin, breakable necks, he commanded respect. He tolerated no lapse. Time never does favor the weak, and he, all too aware of his brief, niggling existence, refused to spend precious hours feeling… — read more