just a small excerpt from something I’m working on…

Now to a good memory:

her standing by the nightstand, she’s fingering something, a necklace, it’s coiled like a snake under her hand, a single white bead playing between her thumb and forefinger. Hip jutting out, under pale pink nightgown worn thin and soft from so many nights- the thin lace is broken on the shoulder, its end falls limp just by the tiny freckle near her collarbone. It rises with every breath in, it sinks in her sigh. Her lips are pursed, serious, in concentration, some thought, some nagging idea, it’s taking her focus from everything else. She’s staring full gaze at the wall, she’s staring at the indefinable phrase- unutterable proclamation. Her fingers keep rolling that bead, they keep at it like they’re in prayer- worry- her worry bead- but this moment- this moment- is the moment before he knows what she’s worried about. And it’s a beautiful memory- this moment- his most intimate- when it was only the two of them- the future weight about to crash down- but not yet- not yet.

She turns her head, her hair falls cross her face- she releases the bead to brush it away. Her mouth opens- there’s a pause- a breath (the last gasp)- her voice comes out

and stop.

That’s all- that’s all that’s necessary- in remembering- that’s all for now.

- Jessamyn Fiore, Excerpt from The Pessimist