there are little splits of time, cracks in the lines that let the light in. this is where he finds me. I keep to myself mostly. I write and read in small corners of the world, take photographs of people that pass me by. people I loved or want to love in the future. I pin them inside the walls of my room. when the splits come along I see him peer in, wonder about my place in the world. I have a mild way about myself. someone told me one time to take care of these pieces, to hide her away from the world because she is always so sad. so I do just that.
Published by Erin Rose Belair
I am multi-genre writer specializing in travel, ad-copy, and nonfiction prose. A recent graduate with my MFA I am spending my new found time rambling around the world, practicing yoga, and searching for the best salad ever. View all posts by Erin Rose Belair