Creative Writing | March 2018

Lately I've got out of the habit of writing anything that isn't a blog post or an email, really, but last week I had a burst of creativity and wrote this bit of nonsense. Go easy on me.

Anchored.

We chased our youth to the bottom of empty
wine bottles, lined up precariously
along the low wall of the pier like a
fragile game of ten pin bowling. Fingers
intertwined, bitten nails and full bellies
and warmth in our cheeks, city lights behind
us hiding the stars from view.

Everything glittered: not quite gold, not
quite old enough to decide right from
wrong but not young enough to make
excuses for the fire in our eyes and
the way our toes curled inside
boots that did little to block out the cold
that found its way into every space,

settling in our eyelashes and numbing
our ears, breath hanging in front of us
like the unspoken promises of a Friday
night in February. The sea danced
angrily beneath us, rocks dusted with
salt, pebbles shining in the moonlight
and the wine bottles, falling one by

one, shattered amongst the sand.