Non- Fiction

"i still miss you" 

I have a hard time putting myself in other people's shoes, thinking about how they felt. but in these moments I get lost, wondering how they felt. He had called me in his last few days, I believe he knew in his heart he was going to die. He just couldn’t rack his brain around the fact that he wanted to talk to everyone one last time, be with them.  I wondered if he found comfort in knowing he would have to be vulnerable. He was never good with words or expressing himself but it must have been enough to ask about shallow feelings. Shielding himself from his approaching death by pretending he didn’t care, making busy with small projects. But when his withering hands stopped working and he could no longer speak there was nothing to busy himself with. He had to sit with his thoughts and be treated like a child. Even if he found the words to say to loved ones after 70 years, his body wouldn’t work.

"bookstore blues" 

I walked in, welcomed by the chipped wooden doors. The smell of old, used books comforted me. The owner walked over and asked "what are you here for today?" as he always did. something about that familiarity made me feel content. I walked to my favorite corner, the handwritten sign reading "historical fiction and classics." As I'm browsing the shelf I look over to the windows. The rain is pouring outside and the trees sway in the wind. Even though it looks so cold and dreary I feel warm. My hands run across the spine of the books, a familiar author's name in mind. A smile makes its way to my face when I see it's here. I've been wanting a personal copy of this book for a while. I grab the book and run my hands over the textured cover, The Metamorphosis, a popular novel by Franz Kafka. Simplistic days like this bring me joy, I hope there's many more to come.