she held on to his hand. it was the first time someone held her. lovingly so. was this how it feels like to be touched? it was a strange feeling: being wanted, someone wanting to be close, someone this close. she became aware, all of a sudden, of the last three years he’d been at a distance, and wondered about that space. the space we put between ourselves and others. slowly and with every step up the stairs, one by one his fingers laced and intertwined hers. the space in between them becoming smaller and smaller. a breath with every inch of space they were closing in. he squeezed her hand. a reassuring, comforting, gentle force of skin on skin. human on human. breath on breath. he wanted to be close her, and she didn’t stop him. for the first time, maybe and only this time ever, she wanted someone who wanted her.

– an excerpt from the book i’m writing, a.m.


no, i won’t dare open it.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mystery Box.”

You wake up one morning to find a beautifully wrapped package next to your bed. Attached to it is a note: “Open me, if you dare.” What’s inside the mystery box? Do you open it?

I don’t open it. No.

I never dare. I always fear the Unknown. 

I see “Do Not Disturb” signs everywhere,

on everyone’s faces. And hearts, too.

So, the answer is no. I won’t dare open it. Not ever.

I won’t even come close.

Even if it’s beautifully wrapped, no.

No more would I be seduced 

to come close anything mysterious anymore.

Once, I came close to a pair of mysterious eyes

that came with a mysterious heart.

I fell. And hard, too.

Still, I’m trying to run away.

But his heart is like a shadow in the sun,

and his eyes like the tick-tock of my clock at night.