synchronicity
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There is a particular kind of silence that arrives before something changes. Not the empty kind. Not the silence of abandonment or endings. This one feels occupied, as though something has been moving quietly behind the walls while everyone else carried on believing the house was asleep. For a while, there were only pieces. A…
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There were rules nobody remembered agreeing to. The alarm sounded at the same hour each morning, coffee filled the same cup, and traffic gathered beneath the same red lights while hundreds of people stared through windshields toward places they had already been yesterday. Hours became numbers in an account, numbers became houses, cars, groceries, vacations,…
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Tonight at 7:15 p.m. CST someone passed away. They left a single rainbow and sun showers over the Texas Sky. Home. There was no thunder. No violent sky splitting itself open in grief. Just rain falling through sunlight, as if the heavens had forgotten they were supposed to choose between mourning and celebration. And then…
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When I drove past the black dog with black eyes standing at the corner I knew it was the sign that everything was going to be alright. Which makes absolutely no sense. The dog didn’t speak. It didn’t move. It didn’t lift one paw and point dramatically toward my future. It simply stood there. Black…
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No one remembered hearing the machine start. Everyone remembered wondering why the silence felt so loud after it stopped. It wasn’t announced. There were no flashing lights. No emergency broadcast. No countdown. Just a strange feeling that somewhere beneath everything…something enormous had sighed its last breath. Then the world blinked. Not dramatically. Not with explosions…
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Nobody in Briar’s Hollow ever checked the sky. Not because they couldn’t. Because they had forgotten it mattered. They woke to alarm clocks instead of birds. They stared at glowing screens instead of sunrises. They measured life by deadlines, notifications, grocery lists, and traffic lights. If the wind changed, they blamed allergies. If their mood…
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I knew it was coming because people kept telling me I had changed. Changed how? Nobody ever seemed to have an answer. They’d just look at me differently. Like they were studying a photograph of someone they used to know. Like I had misplaced some version of myself they wanted back. Maybe I had. I…
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The university library was almost empty. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Rain tapped softly against the windows. Somewhere in the distance a printer coughed out pages nobody would read twice. She sat alone at a wooden table buried beneath notebooks, highlighters, half-drunk coffee, and a stack of books that had become progressively stranger over the…
