❝i've delicately chosen letters to form words and words to form sentences, each sentence a colorful paint stroke on the canvas of my mind.❞ [ #1 in poetry on 27/08/16 ]

There was still a tint of light brown swirled in it. From three tiny containers of milk, the last droplets fell onto the table, vacant save for the cup of coffee. Morris tsked, opening a last little container and pouring more milk. He mixed it well and then got close enough for the smell and warmth to tickle his nose. ...Yes, only now did it have the same color as those eyelashes.

a short story about loss, remembrance, and love. -- what will happen when you meet a boy under the blue tree? will you remember him when he fades away?

"Meat" has been a call-guy in Chicago's gay district for over a year and seems largely satisfied with his job. Until a peculiar new client makes him question if he should be serving his meat to everyone.