A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.
I like to think that opposing thoughts are there to push the boundaries and shapes of the thought puzzles, and that these new pieces create even more structures and works or art.
I looked up at the dark, dried, and ominous dead trees looming down with their bare bent, and scraggly-looking branches stretched out wide. I continued my stare with my eyes transfixed to gaze upon the contrast of the dark geometric lines against the much lighter gray-bluish-colored sky. The combination of vastly different colors gently whispering that they are, in fact, the embodiment of a beautiful, yet lifeless, winter’s day.
The memory fades away with every breath breathed in its direction. The very act of recalling the memory destroys it piece by piece as though my mind attempts to chisel itself away. However, instead of an uncovered work of art from polished marble, I’m left with the rough sections of jagged rock lying in ruins.
You cannot avoid the bright greens from the various herbs and spices sprouting in medium-sized round pots and planters. And when you brush up against the springy shrubs adorning the sides surrounding the outdoor space your noise is gifted with a smell of fresh basil and parsley that lingers long enough to encourage a small grin from your mouth.
I almost ran you over—but I didn’t. It wasn’t you, but the person who was walking across the street in that strange way that you used to walk looked just like you. I only had a moment to look at that person’s face as I quickly rounded the street corner in my car extremely late [...]