With my *semi*-new book in hand (“The Writer’s Book of Days” … simply amazing stuff), I have begun “writing practices” each day. Short little snippets from the prompts in the book, these practices force me to put pen to paper and accept whatever comes forth – some of it good, some of it not-so-good! As the book says, “The effects of daily writing practice may not come immediately, and they may be subtle in their appearance” … but if I stick to it, eventually over time, I hope that I will see growth. And part of my new challenge is being brave enough to share my writing with other people. Certainly not all of my writing practices need to be shared [and most won’t]. But I need to learn to choose a few now & again to bare out there to let me know that it’s okay. Other people can read my writing, and I won’t die. And perhaps from their critiques, I just might get better! So thank you for putting up with my little scribblings. 🙂

Prompt: “A coincidence.”

It was merely chance that he met her that night. Purely coincidence. It didn’t mean a thing that they shared laughter together, that her eyes merrily danced whenever they came his way. He knew that the brush of her hand against his was merely an accident and that it really wasn’t the cause for the flutters his heart had gone into. Their conversation had only been due to polite social conventions, and he knew he’d never see this dazzling, beguiling girl again – or if he did, they’d merely nod as passing acquaintances. Fate had merely thrown them together for a few delightful, happy hours, and there was no reason that he should want to see her again or be near her or hear her pleasant voice.

He was sure that she belonged to someone else, and she was only being nice to him, as she might to anybody she’d met for an evening. There was nothing beyond that night – purely happenstance – and life would continue on in its separate veins for both of them. That was the way life was – a series of random coincidences that threw you together with a stranger for a short while, and then you moved on. Sometimes that stranger was a beautiful, unique, laughter-filled, passionate girl with eyes that were like dancing stars, and who unconsciously lit a fire in whatever room she stepped into, but it mattered not. It was only a coincidence.

So why could he not stop thinking about it?