"Caravanner's Trade" by M.A.A.
the worst architect in town grumpy bastard and boring creations planning tunnels above and around hollow bridges between disasters one rune and a signature on paper and the bridges continue to emerge and they do so forever patriots to a non-existent land ever wandering comrades of now disappeared sages fall off the hollow bridges into oceans of black sand covering the paths of soot and grime there's not much to be done when the paper's signed when the rune is gone this deal made in haste will last it is a nomad's game lose as much as you get caravanner's trade anything worth finding is already dead roots resemble vines blossoms but leaves one can never return but always leave so hold on to your memories and keep them clean for at the next oasis of thieves they will be weighted and reverted to dreams
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“Suprise Suprise” by Rachel Thornburgh
The day had finally arrived, I looked a million dollars, my best friend had dropped me to departures and I had completed the US Immigration preclearance. I was dizzy with excitement.
Since he had surprised me with a night in Paris, I had secured a job and an extended J1 visa to work in Hawaii and took off shortly after the exams were over. I had surprised him on my way over and on my return. I had made sure my connections went via Austin. He made plans to come to Maui. It had been a week of romance and passion. I had told my roommate not to expect to see me for the week.
Now back in Ireland I was adamant to be on the road again soon, hopefully with him. I hadn’t seen him in six months. We had decided to meet half way, to pin down our future together. We were headed to New York for a week. This was the man I wanted. He was the one for me.
‘Could Rebecca Travers please pick up a courtesy telephone?’
I heard the announcement and laughed. Surely, it was my best friend wishing me luck. I eagerly made my way to the information desk and was pointed in the direction of a phone mounted to a wall nearby. I picked up the phone. I stated my name and the operator connected the call.
‘Hey’, I said smiling, expecting to hear my friend.
‘Hi’. It was him. It was Christian. That familiar drawn out “hi” that I had first heard over two years previously when he had first introduced himself to me only I could tell that he wasn’t smiling this time. A million thoughts swam through my head. What was going on? Was there another surprise? Apprehension impressed upon me like never before.
‘I just found out that I’m going to be a father’.
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"home (n.)" by Connor Orrico
to long to be home ham (Old English), "dwelling place, house, abode, fixed residence; estate; village; region, country," from *haimaz (Proto-Germanic), “home” place / hem (Old Frisian) / hemir/heima (Old Norse) / hjem (Danish) / heem (Middle Dutch) / heim (German) / haims (Gothic) history from *(t)koimo- (PIE), root *tkei- "to settle, dwell, be home;" perhaps a story of being & ubeity -- of person & place; homestead homeostasis to belong home
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"There and Here, Old and New" by S.J. Saighead
Only there it’s truly dark; waking down long ambling paths, eyes straining for light. Only there it’s truly quiet; a voice on the wind, heard from miles away along with badger’s hassled feet and wren’s worries. The light of a cigarette can be seen from space there, burning alone. Lonely city, Eliot was wrong. You do not go quietly. You roar and splutter and cough under LED street-lights. They say they’d stay going for years, long after the last lonely feet are dragged home, bleary eyed and disappointed, the street lamps will light the way for cityless ghosts.
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