Beacon Hill

"I left Beacon Hill when I was three." She laughs. "I can barely recall."

He prods. "What do you remember? Tell me one thing."

"I remember the robins clinging to the trees."

He smiles, encouraging. Gentle. "One thing more."

This one thing more. His way, always, of digging deeper, deeper, deeper, until, by the end of the time she finds herself exhausted. "I remember the roses that grew in the garden of the next door neighbor. He would let me touch the petals, and they were so soft. So, so soft." Her voice trails off for a moment before she continues. "I remember one morning, just after a rain, or maybe it was raining still, a misty sort of rain you don't really notice." She looks at him. Is he paying attention?

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To Be Honest

To be honest, I never really loved you.  To be honest, I never really cared.  I needed a warm bed to sleep in.  Arms to embrace me.  Food to fill my belly.  But love is so much more than a bed and arms and food.  Love is trust.  To be honest, I never fully trusted you.  To be honest, I never trusted myself in choosing you.

This was written in response to today's One-Minute Writer prompt.  Today's prompt: To be honest.  The rules are simple.  Read the prompt.  Set the timer.  Write for one minute.  Stop and post.