The old priest considered the cast-iron oil pot sitting in the corner of the immaculate kitchen. It was heavy, and his back hurt.
The trees growing on the canyon walls whispered to him. "Prepare
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The Sword Swallower Cuts Their Tongue While Saying Goodbye
The weather was good today, you answer whenever I ask how are you, how was your day. I don't know when we stopped talking about what mattered the most because you won't tell me. I ask are you OK, and you shrug and wait until I'm out of the room to confess to your cigarette. If you wanted me to figure you out without you taking a risk once in a while, you should've married the magician, the one who made you beam when he pulled a rabbit out of a hat and gave it to you for the world to see.