When you get right down to it there isn’t really much redeemable about February.
Yes there is a day of love.
It is also the shortest month but for me,
for me it takes the longest.
There is no hidden anticipation.
All is doom, gloom and the farthest thing from bloom.
No hope yet.
Just passing time as I patiently wait for the promise of renewal in
spring- in March.
I have found that my best work comes when I write by hand.
The ideas appear and I jot them down before they are lost forever.
Does it really matter if it’s by hand or computer?
How many sentimental journeys do we take in a
Lifetime?
Year?
Day?
Hour?
The seduction of the memory cannot be resisted.
Heartbreak or fulfillment each beg you with equal vigor.
Are we running from our future or to our past?
The present is unable to offer the nostalgia we crave.
As long as you understand it’s not the memory it’s too far gone now.
Now we are in love with the sentiment.
Six word stories with this photograph in Denver as the setting:
Wall discourse sets us all free.
I was not once seen plainly.
To be everything is a trap.
His proposal under the bridge failed.
Only the shadows warm my heart.
Happiness given by uniquely blue letters.
In the window my reflection soared.
Against the wall she loved him.
The sun dried tears of bliss.
Unseen she was still his world.
Years ago I cried.
The sun disappeared from view.
Wise laughter dances.
Why do I pretend the glass is my protective barrier?
Just on the other side lies mystery and what lies behind me?
I want to play in the fog.
I can’t get lost if I don’t know where I am going.
of the mountain.
The storm approaches.
HIKE. BIKE. DRINK.
College Level Drinking, Elementary Level Writing
A Poet's Journey by Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
An introvert's guide to the human experience
Literary.Land.of.Alysia 