Category: Personal Stories
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The house stood stark, a place of fear, Where young years echoed shouts I’d hear. My forts arose, in leafy space, A hidden haven, a safe place. For in the wild, I learned to be, The architect of my own decree.
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By the time I was 12, the choice was often a brutal one: stay and face my mother’s drunken violence, or run. I chose to run. In the wild hills of Los Osos, California, I built secret forts, stocking them with water, food, and a sleeping bag. These weren’t forts for play; they were sanctuaries…
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In a home where safety was a fleeting concept, I found a purpose in a broken-winged dove. The garage became our sanctuary. While my world outside was loud and unpredictable, in there, I was a healer. He gave me a quiet, predictable peace, showing me that true strength isn’t about weathering a storm, but about…
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My childhood home was a place of confusing contrasts, of a mother who was two different people depending on whether she was drinking. Then one day, a broken-winged dove literally fell from the sky. In the quiet of our garage, I nursed him back to health, and a sacred routine was born. Every night, a…
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It’s like the ghost of a tomorrow, A joy you didn’t get to borrow. A phantom ache for a life half-glimpsed, A sentence that you left unlimpsed. The muscle memory of a choice You didn’t make, that has no voice.
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My home became a canvas tent, By creek water, my strength was spent, And then renewed. The tracks my guide, With nowhere left for me to hide. I’d walk to work in waitress shoes, To fight the lonely, midnight blues.
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I become the keeper of firsts and of lasts, A living museum of futures and pasts. The notch on the doorframe that measures the height, The smudge on the wall from a pillow fight.
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“Do you ever think about what life would be like for us if things were different? If miles did not divide us? I picture it sometimes, in stolen moments. Little things, mostly. Waking up next to you, the smell of coffee brewing in our kitchen.”
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“It was 2:30 a.m. when instinct pulled me from sleep. I scooped up my baby just as the earth began to shake beneath us. That night, in our shattered apartment, I laid my body over my three children, protecting them from the chaos. And when the dust settled, the only untouched corner in the wreckage…