aBerrant-Jots

Beneath a tiny Hannaya mask on a worn red thread two tiny bells played against his bedroom door. Their anchor twisted and turned to expose a crooked smile as she strolled in to the kitchen unmindful of miniature music that made him wince. Hands held the walls of his temples. Within still stirred prayers to Dionysus, God of Wine and this Woman, who consumed several wishes from Djinnis, judging by their empty bottles she was not drinking alone last night. Sleepy friends had fallen on couches and floors, but beyond the fangs and harsh Hannaya eyes, was room for a wall for unopened toys, a wall for posters, a wall for art and photos

Well Old-Timer, For it's 1, 2, 3 strikes you're out at the old ball game. Now you are with a different trinity, where the games go on forever with error-free instant replays. You are enjoying the games your great-grandchildren haven't even played yet. If they don't win it's a shame. For it's Root! Root! Root! for the Home Team. I will still cheer, despite the emptiness around your home, I still find your stories, your accomplishments, even the sap, the jokes and mistakes, the sap has turned to ageless amber that I will pass on to my children. They are treats and I find myself wanting more. Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks

An account of my own experiment that I didn't learn from love gods' torso, my life had changed when she let me go. This simple test only takes a moment. Place a hand in regular warm water. Remember this feeling. Plunge it quickly in cold water, until it stings deeply. Now the other feels hellishly hotter. That's why she left. I was too lazy and content, used to love that was lukewarm. Before her, I never felt misery. Without that cold, I thought that was the norm. My results show truth I'll never forget. I have changed.  I feel fire forever.