Little Memories
Driving, I sometimes get little memories. Nothing big. Not grand realizations. Only simple, small sensory memories, snippets of images.
The warmth of a fire as I bent low to draw a magical symbol, teaching an innkeepers daughter the joy of magic.
The smell of hearty inn food, and beer.
The smell and feel of magic in the air, of a world where humans weren’t meant to tread.
My Lady’s grand throne revealed in the mists of the lake.
The warmth and glow of my gem as I danced and mingled with my Pearl.
The sound of a cracking Quartz as I felled it on the battlefield.
The moon of Derse and the smell of its food, and the look of its inhabitants
The feeling of the ocean water filtered through gills.
The hum and slight rumble of an old police cruiser as it drove down uneven side streets, my elbow resting on the window, casting small, lingering glances at my partner.
The hesitant smiles and respect for a kindred spirit. Someone who made the same mistakes and felt the same separation from their peers .
The sadness of parting as I sat in a beige and grey Moscow office. And the joy of return
The drunken kiss. Me tasting of rice wine and pretentious cigarettes, him of surprise, the house special, and a single half drunk beer. dizzily confessing my adoration for my partner though an impulsive moment, I later burned with embarrassment over.
Discussion ¬