And somehow that would make everything alright, like the rain.
Heritage by D.I. Jolly A prose poem It was 4 years to the day that the letter arrived, four years to the day since the incident where my father, a quiet man with a strange sense of humour apparently lost control. It had often been said that he used to tell himself jokes, because only…
It was 7 am when his alarm started screaming, telling him he’d lain awake all night.
What if I’m actually too old?
A half-remembered dream that’s slowly coming into clarity.
“Play with me.”
It’s the perfect life.
The normal life.
It’s the life everyone wants.