A clean slate, a fresh start, a do-over. The ends to some beginnings and beginnings to some ends. You hope the elephant forgets, You wish for the owl’s wisdom. Is it fair to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, Or is it akin to turning on your hazard lights at a busy intersection, Hoping to … Continue reading The Countdown
Author: misstinypurple
I graduated in 2016 from the University of Michigan, with an M.E in Energy Systems. Microprose is my forte: a form of writing that restricts word counts to as little as 13 words. I currently live in California, pursuing a career in clean energy, whiling away my time before I can become a full-time storyteller. Some of my favourite things are walking on crunchy leaves, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, fluffy puppies, boba tea, murder mysteries and conversing with captivating humans.
A wise woman once taught me: to laugh often and much, to win the affection of intelligent people, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better-- that is to have succeeded in life.
Assimilation
When the hazy, shimmering desert can’t quite compare To the peninsula and its misting petrichor, When you begin to measure the passage of time With how it flattens another roll in your r’s, When the lyrics to your favourite song have since Colonised phrases in your native tongue, When even football crowds resonate differently than … Continue reading Assimilation
Maya
June 22nd, 2165 A lone sparrow chirped away at the waking sky as she perched on a scant tree, a gentle breeze plucking away more leaves. Below, a man in tweed strolled past, newspaper under one arm and a girl of about six in tow, taking three steps for every one of his. As they … Continue reading Maya
Candle Re-Making
Strike a match, light a flame, It burns a while, yet not enough To avoid the concave. You strike again, set it ablaze Although it dies before gathering pace. You repeat the process a dozen times With different candles of myriad styles, Each time leaving behind A pool of unspoken lines, Awkward pauses, one-sided conversations, … Continue reading Candle Re-Making
Studio Living
The thing is, if you truly experience it in its whole, life reimagines itself; you begin to cherish Christmas with souls who choose your company in all your broken splendour, you start to question the insanity of anticipating the beeps and buzzes of your devices instead of the chirps and rustles of the world, you … Continue reading Studio Living
November Waves
Laying atop the jagged rocks, on a narrow beach blanket, I sneak a peek as you paddle away from the shore. My fingers itch to sketch out the curves of your surfboard And perhaps you, instead of the tumble of waves I’d vowed to capture this sunny morning. You coast the swells nonchalantly, And as … Continue reading November Waves
Bad Wolf
Woke up beside you, wishing I’d Find you wrapped around me. The walls remained silent as they watched You leave; I, even more so. Weeks have passed, years even, Still, I resolve that Special kind of loneliness — normally Healed by rewatching old favourites— By waking up to them wrapped around Me, wishing they were … Continue reading Bad Wolf
Thundershowers
It all happened so quickly; as does a typically Midwestern summer downpour. There I was, a sopping mass of summer clothes, huddled under my umbrella, when your eyes found mine and I beckoned you to join me. You did without protest, we tittered about our shared misfortune, I offered you a stick of gum that … Continue reading Thundershowers
Sunday Mornings
Nona was always a gracious host— Even after her knitted socks began to Resemble amorphous clouds of colour, Even after locks on doors lost their usefulness Much like the Volkswagen in her garage, Even when she began to call me by my Mother’s name, even after she lost her ability To go on evening walks … Continue reading Sunday Mornings
Unmoored
The profound sense of loss came even before You’d unladed the anchor. You cast away, An unmoored vessel, without a true north, Approaching nothing but the fabled horizon. With every dark and dreary dusk, turbulent Tempest, and scorching summer’s day, There’s impetus to turn around (And on some days you do). Yet when … Continue reading Unmoored
ThePurpleFenix 