I amI am.
Feeding off your breath against my skin;
I'm sighing with each fall of your lungs,
catching every droplet in suspense and allowing myself to be ---
what I am.
Hanging on your every word;
I'm watching the vowels float around me ,
watching them slide from the tip of your tongue as I'm hearing the silk butter of your voice melt into my ears.
I'm glowing with promises and I'm blushing at your whispers.
Watching my life come together;
I'm gazing into the entirety of our future with just one look in your eyes.
I'm synchronising with every beat of your heart and I'm allowing myself to be what ---
I am love
I am in love.
Candles and LightersShe couldn't focus on the page in front of her, the tears threatening to fall from her eyes stopped her sight. She held back a whimper, refusing to let the people around her see the pain she felt. Her eyes tried to slide toward the desk to her left but she wouldn't let them. Yet somehow, like always they ended up over there anyways.
A tear fell from her eyes even as she tried to blink it away. His last sketch still graced the tabletop the fanciful creature staring at her with wide, innocent eyes. Her strength failed her; she stood, her movements harsh, and rushed out the room. A classroom of eyes followed her exit.
She dashed from the brick building, sprinting to her truck and climbing into the front seat. She allowed her head to rest on the steering wheel, tears cascading down her pale cheeks. Blonde hair fell down her back in waves, her cerulean eyes usually gleamed in the sunlight, and her skin was normally a rosy peach; yet, at that moment, she had never felt more useless, un
A Cold NightA bird flies over the horizon as the sun begins to set, leaving an orange ray of light over the sand. The ocean glows a deep blue, the waves splashing over a young woman's feet.
The mushy sand covers her bare feet, a feeling both disgusting and comforting. It sends shivers down her spine, as does the cold California evening breeze. Her long blonde hair offers little warmth, nor does the sweater her boyfriend had given her two weeks earlier.
Cars zoom by on the highway, so close and yet so far away.
Se stands in the sandy water silently, waiting for him. Waiting to hear his footsteps as he comes up behind her. Waiting to see his face, surrounded by his dark-brown hair.
Waiting to feel warmth as he wraps his arms around her.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Hello?" she says into the phone.
The voice of a worried friend replies, "They found him, Megan. They found him."
There is no question of who he is, of who they are. All she knows is that something terr
BibliophileI drove by that old coffee shop yesterday. When I saw it, the tip of my foot twitched towards the break, before remembering that there wasn’t anyone waiting for me anymore. The chalkboard sign still read “Welcome” in cursive French, and the usual group of hipsters and loners sat outside on the steps, enjoying the rare clear sky with fruity Italian sodas and iced chais. It felt different not to stop there. It felt wrong.
So on my way home, in the opposite direction, I finally gave in and walked inside, for old time’s sake. It looked the same, with long floorboards, knotted bruise marks in the wood and dents from furniture legs. It was chilly, the way it had always been, with high, lofty ceilings and a single fan that was never on. The first thing that had always caught my eyes were the tall, giant bookshelves. They were stuffed to the brim with books, their spines multi-colored and smelling of wax. Some had definitely seen better days.
But the same could be said
Charity BallsDearest Karen,
I never wanted to be that person, you know. That overly-sentimental, fatherly figure that tells stories from the “good old days” and smokes cigars because he doesn’t really care about getting lung cancer anymore. And I’m sure, wherever you are, you’re laughing your little blonde head off, because you never would have expected it. You married a rebel, and now look at me. I’m normal. I fit in. I go with the flow and it’s ridiculously easy.
It’s also ridiculously boring, you know. I didn’t realize how freaking reliant I was on you to entertain me until, well, you weren’t here anymore. You were always the one who woke up in the morning with buckets of energy, who baked cookies and pineapple-upside-down cupcakes, who made plans for nature hikes and community service. You dragged me out of the house to fundraisers and charity balls, and hell, I’d never even heard of a charity ball until I met you.