Honey and High Water Starts Here...
Be drenched...
I’m Katrina, and this is Honey and High Water—
The title is based on a poem I wrote years ago. I have been writing short stories and poetry since I was a kid— writing was definitely my first love. I’ve written and self-published three books of poetry and short stories: She Lives, Text Messages, and Flowered.
What to look out for—
I will send short stories based off prompts. Some prompts I find online, and others I collect from time to time. A big focus of my writing is romance and relationships, but there will be other topics and ideas explored too.
Today’s story—
Imagine time is running out, and you are faced with your last chance to say what you need to say, or to act in a way that could change the course of your life. What would you do?
Clock’s Ticking—
We stand about fifty feet apart. Neither of us want to move– not towards each other or away. Cuz we know…
“I should go,” you yell. “It’s getting late.”
I just stand there… wanting to speak, but afraid anything I say will be the wrong thing.
“It was good to see you again. I’m glad you came out.” Your words feel closer, almost like a warm balm rubbed into my skin. You still haven’t moved. I still haven’t spoken.
The chime of a church bell. Or a mosque. A call to prayer. A siren. A warning.
Still, no movement. No voice.
I want to say so much to you but I cannot speak. Get my mouth open or my tongue to work. I’m paralyzed, incapable. I know what this means. Soon, you will leave. You will lift one foot in front of the other. You will turn your back to me and go. And my opportunity will be lost. My only chance, my last chance. Cuz we know…
Days like these are special, rare. We walked through an ornate garden, buzzing like bees, filled with the energy of the past and future. You were my first love and I remember why– you sparked joy, creativity, light in me. I could show you my weird, my scars, and you weren’t put off. You could show me your war wounds, your “awkward and silly”, and I would join you. It was fun. We were…
But it was the past. It was dreams of would could be, what could’ve been. But not what is.
In reality, we’re older. We’re responsible adults. We have lives and promises and commitments that we must see through. It can’t just “be” because we want it to be. Can it?
You have to go. I know you do. Clock is ticking and the longer we stand here, not speaking, not moving, the sooner reality crashes into us. Knocks the wind out of us. Separates us further.
“Okay, so..” you start, and I take off running. To you. Into your arms. Holding on tight and refusing to let go. You wrap me up, lifting me off the ground like I'm weightless. Like I’m nothing and everything, everything that’s precious to you.
“I don’t want to let you go,” you say. “I was afraid to touch you again cuz I knew I would never want to stop.”
Your words make my breath catch in my throat… but I recover and force out the words. “Don’t ever stop.”
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Also, catch my poetry videos on TikTok or my short films on YouTube.