And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
By January it had always been winter.
Home after midnight from a debate on the wording of a minor municipal bylaw on bottle recycling, he felt like he was a pin in the hinge of power.
It takes a year, nephew... a full turn of the calendar, to get over losing someone.
It's easier to die if others around you are dying.
Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.
There was a month of fiery happiness. Then six kinked years of suffering.
They say that doing ten sums a day prevents you from becoming senile. But by that argument bankers should be geniuses. That's not right. Thickest heads in the world.
Was love then like a bag of assorted sweets passed around from which one might choose more than once? Some might sting the tongue, some invoke night perfume. Some had centers as bitter as gall, some blended honey and poison, some were quickly swallowed. And among the common bull's-eyes and peppermints a few rare ones; one or two with deadly needles at the heart, another that brought clam and gentle pleasure. Were his fingers closing on that one?
We're all strange inside. We learn how to disguise our differences as we grow up.
You know, the Chinese have forgotten more about sailing than the rest of the world ever knew.
A spinning coin, still balanced on its rim, may fall in either direction.
If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit Awards.
I find it satisfying and intellectually stimulating to work with the intensity, brevity, balance and word play of the short story.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories