Writing

     Larry Luria was not the type to march over to a stranger, introduce his hand to shake, and offer his business card. Heck, he didn’t even have the money to make a business card.

    He was an obnoxiously smooth driver.

     When Aurelia heaved open the heavy, lace-decorated, black curtains in her room, she expected to see something beautiful outside, like that ancient oak tree from when she was two years old, with its twisted branches th

I wait in the dark,

with the clouds poking through the atmosphere.

I look to the stars

begging for their help.

They shoot dust in my eyes;

which brings the tears

I watch the moon as it's turning

Rain falls from the sky, 

Yet my feet are cemented on the ground. 

And the water beads on my face, 

Turning my hair wet when I wish it were dry. 

But somehow I don't care. 

Do you still find comfort 
In the way the leaves change 
Green to orange to red to green again?  
Do your clothes still smell like apples and spices?  
Do you still drink cider