Droplets from the Inkwell

Twitter Scribbles: Monday, 5 November 2012

I ran my hand over his flexed bicep, feeling the firmness and shape of the muscle. I whistled in appreciation. He clearly worked out a lot.

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I placed my hands on opposite sides of the gigantic stump. I ran my thumbs along the top, feeling the bumps of the tree's rings.

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I pressed the tip against the parchment and scraped it along the surface. Black ink trailed, forming thin and broad strokes as I wrote.

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He held me in his arms as I sat in bed eating the soup he had made for me. I sniffled and he reached over to the night stand for a tissue.

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I ran my hand along his cheek, feeling the day-old stubble scratch my skin. He tenderly kissed my palm as moved over his lips. I smiled.

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The mountain loomed above him, its snow-capped peak glistening in challenge. He adjusted the straps on his backpack and began to climb.

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Her hand flitted across the page, pressing the charcoal against it and adding a new mark here. She smiled as the image began to take form.

JarredH

Our tears remind us that we're human. Our laughter reminds us why.