Here we are. We are a moment trapped in time, a dream given life. (The dream has yet to become reality.) This is a standoff, not yet the battle of wills it could be, and we are a developing memory. The world moves on around us, taking us with it.
revolution
pace the pavement, punctually tired.
the fallacy
act, and try to convince yourself.
tracing paper
the sketchbook is splayed across the table, thin gauzy papers stacked in a bundle several inches tall.
lucky thirteen
let's hit the road. (you never say it, but we go anyway)
precipice
lightning rattled the old tree on the clifftop, thunder crackling through the air in the worst weather she could have hoped to find. she set the vessel on the ground, hovering it several inches and creating a fire below. this was perfect weather; the conditions were more than ideal for this ritual. the gown she …
ovation
the red curtain falls, hem skimming the stage;
purple detriment
she stitches the gown in layers of purple, four different shades of dark and hand-dyed to suit her exact criteria. it all but ruins her eyes; she stares so long, so hard at the stitching in fading light, rousing herself when she truly cannot see any more. embroiders patterns across in gold, luscious patterns crafted …
surface
she dives into the water, the undisturbed pool barely rippling as she breaks the surface.
the vortex
this happens again and again.
write one craft one 
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