Tag Archives: writing

Reminders of You, Reminders of Heartbreak


The song, “Sooner or Later,” by Mat Kearney is one that always brings up strong memories of one person.  This may come across as a very sad writing challenge, but it is just the memories.  This is what I feel when I hear the song.  It unlocks a part of me that is usually tightly tucked away.

We’re all standing with our backs against the wall, Sooner or later.

Waiting on a phone that never calls, at all.

Heartbreak comes rollin’ in like a storm, Sooner or later.

Trying to swim but your sinking like a stone, Alone.

I am now the one standing with my back against the wall.  I was the one – the phone that never called.  I came in as heartbreak, causing more damage than any storm.  We both tried to swim, and I know I know we both sank like stones.  Except there is no we; there’s you and then there’s me.

And I can feel fire in the night

Waiting here

Baby it’s like we’re

Walking on a wire through the fear

Take my hand

We’ll get there

There was fire in the night.  There was fire in our hearts.  There was fire when we held hands.  There were sparks when I thought of you.  The everyday reminders of you.  Hearing a song – this song – and thinking of you.  You would listen to it on repeat, and now it burns of you.  We thought we would get there.

Sooner or later I swear we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it,

Sooner or later I swear we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it

Milk and honey till we get our fill

I’ll keep chasing it I always will

Sooner or later, I swear

We’ll make it there

Sooner than later

It is now later, and there is no “we.”  What exactly happened, I’m not sure.  Maybe the milk went sour; the honey became bitter.  We thought we were going to make it, but I had my fill.  You kept chasing, but I was scared.  Sooner became later, and we did not make it there.

We’re all waiting on a dream that’s hard to own, Sooner or later

Trying to feel the high without the low, you know

It’s impossible to feel the high without the low.  There is always a low.  We had dreams together.  I had dreams of you and I know you had dreams of me.  And we had dreams for ourselves.  I hear this song and I remember those dreams.  We wanted to travel the world, camp in the mountains, go on adventures, and do it all together.  This song uncovers memories of your bedroom, listening to it on repeat, and traveling the world in our mind, through pictures and tourist books.

You can feel fire in the night

Lying here

Baby it’s like we’re

Walking on a wire through the fear

Take my hand

We’ll get there

It was not a wire we walked initially.  It was a reinforced, fenced in, sturdy bridge.  There was no doubt.  Then I broke the bridge.  To me, it had dwindled down to a wire.  To you, it looked like I came in with gale-force winds and annihilated what you thought was a secure bridge.  You reached to take me hand, but I pulled it away.

The fear inside

The hills we’ve climbed

The tears this side of heaven

All these dreams inside of me

I swear were gonna get there.

I wish I could have better explained the fear inside.  I was young, but we had conquered so much together.  There should not have been tears, because in your mind, we were heaven.  All of those dreams we had, I shattered.  I wish we were going to get there.  I wish hearing this song did not bring up the memories of heartbreak and sadness.  It now brings up a picture of you instead of the actual you.  What breaks my heart the most, is that I know when you hear this song even now, a piece of your heart still breaks too.


Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember


The Setting

The writing challenge for this week was to sit down for 10 minutes and write what you remember.  Once I set that timer, this was what came to mind.  This is what I remember:

I remember the walls being yellow and warm, maybe even a cream color.  It is more probable than not that the walls weren’t actually yellow – the memories are just seen through the faded, affectionate lens of a child.  There was the kitchen, bright blue cabinets with chips of green paint showing through from years earlier.  The little four-person, round, kitchen table.  There was no need for it to be any bigger.  There were four seats, and four of us.  What more could we need?  I remember meals of meatloaf and broccoli at the table.  Happy family conversations, and battles over not wanting to eat my peas, and craft projects.  That little table that could transform into a doghouse to cage in my brother when I was the owner and he was the dog, or a barn where I would munch on cheerios out of a bowl when I was pretending to be a horse.  This table was in a kitchen where I would watch my mother cook, whether it was dinner or some sweet treat for the day.  I would take spoonfuls of hot Jell-O (one for every member of the family and then for extended family members too, of course), or lick the cake batter of the spoon for her (so she wouldn’t have to clean it, obviously).

The faded memories of this place also include running around in circles through the house on all fours.  For some reason those memories are from the perspective of a horse.  I would have jumps made of chairs, or toys set up on the route so I could practice all disciplines vital to being a well-rounded equine.

There was our brown couch – the brown couch – in the living room.  Big enough to seat us.  There was no need for it to be bigger.  The living room was small, and the wood stove I knew not to touch because it was too hot.  But I could stand in front of it after a bath to warm up in the winter.  Lazy Sunday mornings would be spent on that squishy, enveloping couch.  Mom and Dad reading the newspaper, me and Clip Clop, or whatever stuffed animal of choice, wedged between them in “my” seat.

The living room had a ruby red carpet.  I’m sure my mother hated it and with eyes untainted by childhood affection, I’m sure I would think it was unattractive too.  But, this was where the Christmas tree belonged in December.  This was where we would decorate the tree to my mother’s favorite Christmas music CD one evening with snowflakes falling lightly out of the cold winter sky.  But we were warm with holiday cheer and excitement within.

This was a place where my soul felt safe.  There are no feelings of anxiety associated with these memories.  No stress.  No pain.  Just home.

Weekly Writing Challenge: A Pinch of Me


For best results, bake under pressure and in a competitive environment.


Outer Pastry Dough

  • 2 cups of dreams
  • 1 wild, all-natural athlete
  • 1 tsp. childhood animal obsession
  • 1 dash of hopeless romantic
  • 2 tbsp. witty remarks (hold the sarcasm for most appealing flavor)
  • A pinch of the outdoors
  • Neon food coloring

Inner Cream Filling

  • 1 pair of goggles
  • 1 racing bike
  • 1 pair of loved running shoes
  • 1 case of travel bugs


  1. Combine ingredients for outer dough and knead until true flavor is achieved.  Dough will be tough at first, but softens with time.  Add a pinch of motivation, determination, and creativity for taste.
  2. In a cast iron pot over a campfire, add ingredients for the cream filling.  Stir until mixture begins to bubble energetically.
  3. Fill each pastry with cream filling to achieve the final outcome.  Tip: May be stubborn and not want to be filled the way you want to do it.  Be patient.
  4. Garnish with yarn, pencils, ribbon, paint, and anything brightly colored.

Store away from heat and humidity.

Will be happiest served for breakfast with chocolate, coffee, fruit, or all 3:)