Summer Nights, Fairy Lights


Little town stories with bright night lights are the ones that make you wonder about magic the same way one does while watching the sun set in a cotton candy vision.

I feel that I notice it more when I am out up north in the small town generations of my family live, or rather for some of us, lived (we escaped the horror of a one stoplight town, you see). On the nights outside with glasses of far past ripe peaches, like these last few I spend at a place I have called "home" before, it is no wonder I love stories of witches that gab until they can no longer see each other in the crisp lamplight. My family, I like to believe, shows a faint resemblance. Especially when my great aunt promises to take me for my first tattoo soon, and my nana talks like instead of college, I am being sent away to prison with rules I doubt she would ever even follow. Sipping my cream soda though, I listen and feel each moment with the mind of the writer inside me that hasn't written in weeks.

Sometimes after all it is experience rather than words that create a story to tell.


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