Mark's Pages

Intro | Music | Fiction | Photography | Travel | Workbook | Resume | Links | Forums | MySpace

October 8, 2002:

The food court at San Francisco State. She's opposite me at a table for two. Her hair is died red with henna, shoulder length, wavy. She laughs: I can hear the musicality of her voice, her distinct way of rising an octave when she begins cracking up, throwing her head back, mirth to the heavens.

I awaken confused.

There's an electrical charge which still pulls me to her, even in dreams.

Post a comment about this piece
back to the October TOC
back to the main blog page

© 2002-8 Mark Phillips. All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.
E-mail this page to a friend.