Prose

There are hands around my neck. They belong to you. The spider lilies will grow at my grave. Don’t plant them there. They already know....

You wander into a cave you haven’t been to before. It’s familiar. It’s unusual. You’re not too sure which one is stronger. But. You’re...

And there is merit in it, isn’t there? As time passes and so do you. You watch the waves wash over your feet and recede. Over and over...