Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • There was an opening, and there was a light inside, a bright, dazzling light, like a small sun caught in a shard of glass. Outside, it was snowing. Outside, it was grey and noisy, and men with eyes and mouths opened wide, like sleuths out to hunt down a fox, and the fox was me.

    There was an opening, like a sanctuary, and I wanted to step inside. Within the blinding light I saw a friend. He reached out for me, in his quiet manner, and I wanted to grab his hand, like before. I’ve come to trust that hand, I've come to trust him.

    He looks down when he talks to me, and browsing through my pictures I notice that he’s always smiling with his lips shut tight, as if he’s chewing on a secret. I think it’s because he wants to hide his teeth. Unlike him, I grew up in a rich country; I had braces, I gargled mouthwash, my spotless smile shines as mockingly bright as the sun, reflecting in his eyes, these pools of cerulean water.

    There was an opening, an invite in that colour, and I wanted to slip into the hue, bathe in those thermal springs of tempting blue, those warm, sparkling waves of benevolence.

    There was an opening, but I passed it by. I wanted to step inside, I wanted to tell him to look at me, not only when I speak, not only when I smile, not only when his quirky comments make me laugh out loud. I wanted to tell him how beautiful the reflection of his soul is, like sunbeams bouncing off the blue, shimmering surface. I catch a glimpse of it now and then when our eyes meet, and even though it hurts a little to look directly at that bright light, I can't bring myself to turn away from the heat.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.