The River Scrawling on the pages of my textbook, I jotted it down again. Was time the twentieth time? Maybe the thirtieth? A quick count revealed it was the forty-fifth time I’d written out in sharp and overly-defined cursive, “Lisa”. Lisa and I had been friends since the second grade. Our houses were across town from one another, but our mothers were both on the church organizing committee so every Sunday, the two of us would be tossed in the backyard with little more than a rope swing dangling from an old tree and the dirt on the ground. Those days had long since past though and we were now both in their senior year of high school. It was early in the school year with the Homecoming game and dance fast approaching. As with most small towns hidden away in rural prairies Homecoming was the biggest night of the year especially when the school had won their homecoming game the last six years running, but first-downs and
A Pilgrimage of the HeartI am a pilgrimIn a strange kingdomWith foreign customs.Which I fail to understand.Stumbling, Bumbling, This land is humbling.I pray at shrines in holy places,Crafted with reflections of her graces.I sacrifice my sleep and rest,Hoping to feel blessedBy her affectionYet I know,Her descent may never come.However the I would rather pray every nightAnd never succumb to sleep againThan to lose all hope of seeing her, just onceBare and exposed before me.
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