There are certain moments that we hold sacred, or secret, within ourselves. Perhaps we never tell anyone else about them, or if we do, we hold back little details because there is something so precious in the memory that sharing it too completely with someone else – someone who was not in that moment with us – just feels wrong.

As a writer it is hard not to bleed out those kinds of moments as they are the raw stuff of passion and lust, heartbreak and loss; it is the good stuff we all want to immerse ourselves in.

But, as a woman, there are still those moments that are only mine and I am not yet ready to let them flow from my veins. There was rain, there was a shared cigarette, there were rings, and there were things said, and not said.

It was beautiful.

The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot :: Brand New