Life in Shambles

Black ashes float all around

Slowly

Black snow

Piece by piece, dream by dream

Blanketing the broken ground

Tarnishing the good

Polishing the bad

And evil prevails once again

Ring around the rosy

Ashes, ashes

I fall down

A Child's Love

My second submission for my fiction class.

A Child’s Love

Thomas presses his forehead against the cold, black bar. He winces from the shock of the cold against his skin. Taking a bar in each hand, he grips the wrought iron gate in front of him. A slight breeze catches his coat and makes it flap in a lullaby rhythm. He looks down, past his black leather boots to the gravel beneath them and sees a red rock that is out of place amongst all the other grey ones and starts to slowly roll the rock back and forth, back and forth.

He knows this hesitation is not what he should be doing. This should be easy. He comes to visit them once a year, same day, same time for the past nine years. But this is not the same. This is the first time he is here alone. He isn’t sure if he can even face them.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and lifts his head from the bar. He feels the impression from the bar on his forehead. It tingles from the pressure and from the cold.

“It’s now or never,” he says aloud to the evening air.

He lets go of his grip on the gate and pushes it open. The gate lets out a loud creak that awakens the quiet evening. Overhead, two black crows fly out from a tree, disturbed by the sound. He puts one foot in front of the other and begins his trek up the path towards those who are waiting for him just over the hill.

The gravel crunches with each step he takes. All around him, stones marking those of the past rise up in the lush, green grass on both sides of the path. They still have their presence; they still create shadows in the setting sun.

He rounds the top of the hill. He can see them waiting for him near the oak tree, the two twin stones and their shadows. Something inside of him makes him stop. He stands staring at them as they stare back. It is like they can see everything and that scares him. He forms a fist with his hand and clenches it, willing himself to go. Instead, he reaches into his inside coat pocket and pulls out a flask. He takes a swig and places it back where he got it from and walks the rest of the path.

He stands above them for a moment, in the shade of the oak tree. He kneels down in front of the stone on the left first. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the engraved letters, one at a time, beginning at the M and ending at the E, Marshall T. Bainbridge. His fingers slide downwards to the dates, March 1, 1932-November 24, 1966. A tear makes its way down his cheek, leaving a warm trail on the side of his face.

“Hi, Dad,” he whispers to the stone.

With no answer, Thomas closes his eyes and remembers the last time he saw his father. It was December 6, 1965 when Thomas was six years old.

***

Thomas’s mother, Margaret, drove the thirty-eight miles from their home just outside of Hartford, Connecticut to Westover Air Force Base in Chicopee, Massachusetts. His father was in the passenger seat in his uniform and Thomas was in the back.

Snow blanketed the sides of the highway and the spaces between the giant pine trees that lined the road. It was a quiet morning and they were the only car on the road. And like the morning, the car ride was just as silent.

In the back seat, Thomas looked from his mother to his father and then back again. His mother focused on the road and his father just stared out the window at every passing tree.

His mother broke the silence about half way through the car ride.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said, still not taking her eyes off of the road.

“I know, but it’s my duty. I’ll be back before you know it,” his father told her. He leaned across and gave her a kiss on the cheek for reassurance.

They drove along in silence. Thomas focused on the humming of the engine; it was making a soft whirring noise and it consumed his ears. He thought it was singing him a song and it lulled him to sleep.

Thomas had woken up to see that they arrived at the base after what seemed like forever to him. His mother and Thomas walked his father inside to where they could say goodbye. The three of them held hands as they walked from the car to the building, Thomas was holding his father’s hand and his father was holding his mother’s hand. In that moment, everything seemed perfect.

Thomas looked up and watched as his parents exchanged whispers. He looked at his mother’s face, he had never seen her so sad, her eyes filled with worry. Tears started to fall from her eyes and Thomas didn’t really understand why. His father hugged her tight. As his father pulled away, he gave her a soft kiss.

“I love you Meg,” his father said to her.

His father bent down to Thomas so that they were eye to eye.

“Daddy, why is Mommy crying?” Thomas asked.

“Because Tommy, I have to go away for a while.”

“But, why?”

“I have to go protect our country for you and for Mommy. Don’t worry, kiddo; I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But who’s gonna teach me to ride my new bike?”

“I’m sure Mommy can teach you just fine. But listen, I want you to do something for me while I’m gone, okay? Look after Mommy for me and make sure she’s happy. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now come here.”

His father swooped Thomas up into his arms and squeezed him tight.

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

His father gave one last kiss to his mother and began to walk away.

Thomas held his mother’s hand as he watched his father disappear through the crowd. His father was constantly stopping and turning around to look back at them. He weaved his way through the mass of families saying goodbye. He stopped one last time and waved goodbye. Thomas noticed the tear that was streaking down his father’s cheek. His father had finally made his way to his fellow soldiers; they all looked so young in comparison.

It was a Tuesday afternoon about a year later. Thomas was riding the school bus home. He was filled with excitement to tell his mother about the A he got on his spelling test. He couldn’t sit still the whole way home; he was bouncing up and down in his seat and craning his neck to see how close they were getting.

As the yellow school bus pulled up to his stop across the street from his house, he noticed a strange car parked out front. He scurried off the bus as quickly as he could and crossed the street.

Thomas stopped when he noticed the two uniformed men making their way up the stairs on the front porch. He watched as they rang the doorbell and as his mother answered the door. As soon as the door opened, she was in a frenzy, screaming, “Why God, why?”

She collapsed on the floor and Thomas ran to her side.

“Mommy what’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

All she could manage to say between her sobs was “He’s gone, Tommy. Your father is gone.”

Thomas joined her and began crying. They held each other the rest of the night, not wanting to let go of the last thing they had.

The funeral was on a Saturday. It rained.

***

A blue bird lands on the stone to the right and causes Thomas to open his eyes. He turns and recognizes the stone. He reaches out and touches his mother’s name, Margaret N. Bainbridge. He feels each groove carefully, they feel like her.

“Hi, Mom. I’ve missed you,” Thomas whispers.

He feels a sharp pain in his chest when he recognizes the dates, July 7, 1933-December 16, 1968. Thomas pulls out his flask and takes another sip. The alcohol burning his throat on the way down, it feels like fire. His tears are pouring like rain and he chokes back a sob.

“Why did you have to leave me, Mom? Why did you have to go?”

***

Life was hard for Margaret and Thomas after Marshall’s death. Every day was a struggle, a struggle to make enough money to put food on the table and to cope with the haunting absence.

His mother was working two jobs and Thomas spent his time with a babysitter when he wasn’t at school. The two of them spent time together only on the weekends. This time was never fun or happy though. His mother no longer smiled. Every time he looked at her, all he saw was sadness, sadness worse than what he had seen the day his father had left.

She no longer cooked him breakfast, but fed him cereal instead. He would watch as she sulked from room to room with her liquor glass in hand. Thomas wanted to keep his promise to his father so he tried to make his mother happy.

“Mommy, watch this,” he said, begging for her attention. Wearing his cap and his top hat he had gotten for Halloween, he performed the magic trick he had learned especially for her.

He took off his top hat and waved his hand over the top and spoke the magic words. Reaching into the hat, he slowly pulled out a bouquet of flowers, “Tada!”

His mother just stared at him, un-amused. She had begun to cry after looking at him for too long. She looked away.

“Mommy, what’s wrong? Didn’t you like my trick?” he asked her.

“It was great, honey.”

“Then why are you not clapping? Why are you crying?”

“You look just like your father, Tommy. It’s hard.”

He was disappointed. Why couldn’t his mother just be happy?

It was Sunday morning, December 15, 1968. His mother was in an unusually good mood. Thomas woke up to the smell of bacon wafting into his bedroom. He threw back his covers and rushed out of bed and into the kitchen.

When Thomas reached the table, his eyes widened. Spread out on the table was a vast variety of every delicious breakfast item Thomas could imagine: pancakes stacked taller than a mountain with a flowing river of maple syrup surrounding them; golden brown cinnamon rolls lined up, ready for devouring; trays of crispy bacon; an array of donuts; fresh milk; and hot cocoa, his mother’s specialty.

“Do you like it, Tommy? I made all your favorites.” she said.

“Yes! This is so awesome,” he exclaimed.

The two feasted until they couldn’t eat anymore. They spent the rest of the day together. They played with Thomas’s Matchbox cars, watched The Banana Splits Show and Mister Roger’s Neighborhood, and since the snow hadn’t fallen yet that season, they went for a walk.

They walked down the street holding hands.

“Having a good day?” she asked.

“Yes! This is one of the best days in a long time,” he said, looking up at her. He noticed she was smiling.

It was the first day Thomas had seen her smile in over two years. He was keeping his promise to his father; he was finally making her happy.

“Tommy, I just wanted to let you know that I love you with all of my heart. Don’t you ever forget that or doubt that I ever did, alright?”

“Alright, Mommy.”

“I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you too, Mommy.”

They walked back home where she made them both hot fudge sundaes, the smiles never leaving their face.

Thomas sat in class Monday morning, staring out the window. A light snow was falling outside, the first snowfall of the season. He watched as the snow floated down and began to coat the ground with a light dust. Yesterday had been the best day he had in over two years, he was happy. He wasn’t going to let school get in the way of his happiness, so he didn’t pay any attention to his teacher. He was daydreaming about when he would get home. He would do all of his homework as quickly as he could so he could go outside and make snow angels with his mother.

“Thomas Bainbridge,” his teacher called, snapping him out of his daydream, “You’re needed in the main office.”

His teacher stood in the front of the classroom holding out a note for Thomas. She stared at him expectantly.

Jumping out of his chair, Thomas snatched the note out of his teacher’s hand, excited hoping that his mother had come to pick him up early so they could enjoy the snow together.

“Maybe she’ll make her hot cocoa again,” he thought as he made his way to the office. His pace quickened as he got closer and closer. Lockers on both sides of him were rushing by in a flash of blue metal. His hair was blown from his speed.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the principal and his Grandma Bainbridge waiting outside of the office for him. His excitement disappeared. He walked with his head down, staring at the grey spotted, linoleum floor slowly passing underneath his red sneakers.

“Tommy, I’m here to take you home,” Grandma Bainbridge announced.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

Reluctantly, he followed his grandma out to her car. He stared out the window angrily the whole way.

“Why didn’t Mommy come pick me up?” Thomas thought to himself.

When they arrived at his house, Grandma Bainbridge sat him down on the couch. Before she could begin talking, he spoke first.

“Why did you pick me up and not Mommy?”

“Well, Tommy…” she paused and looked down. “Tommy, I’m afraid your mother has gone away, to be with your father and the Lord. She wanted to make sure to tell you that she loved you with all of her heart.”

Tears filled Thomas’s eyes. “Liar! I don’t believe you! Liar! Liar! Liar!”

Thomas ran to his room and slammed the door. Flinging himself onto his bed, he buried his head into his pillow, sobbing and screaming.

He would later find out that his mother had overdosed that morning after he had gone to school. His mother never showed up for her shift at the restaurant where she was a waitress. Her boss tried calling the house, but with no response and no answer, she got worried. Her boss had called the authorities.

They found her in her bed with a note on her bed side table. She only wrote two sentences: “Life is too hard without Marshall. Make sure Tommy knows I loved him and always will.”

He never saw that note. He has always wanted to see that note just to see if that’s what she really said.

***

A gust of wind knocks Thomas off balance. The rustling leaves drown out his sobs. He puts his left hand behind him, feeling the sharp blades of grass cutting into his skin. He pushes himself off of the ground. He sways as he stands, not able to hold himself up right. He begins to slowly pace back and forth in front of his parents. He can feel their eyes watching him, bearing into his soul.

A shiver runs down his spine, touching each vertebra it passes. He stops this movement and sits back down. He faces both the stones at the same time, staring back at them.

“I miss you both so much. Why did you have to leave me here all alone?”

***

After his mother’s death, Grandma Bainbridge took Thomas in. The two of them lived in her apartment on the other side of Hartford. It never felt like home. He wasn’t welcome there and it always smelt like cat pee from her cat Fluffy. He was unhappy. He wanted his mother back.

About four months after Thomas began living with Grandma Bainbridge, he came home from school and went straight to bed. He had a severe headache that felt as if someone was punching him in the head over and over.

He was lying in bed when he heard a knock on the door, but before he could even respond, Grandma Bainbridge walked in.

“Is everything alright, Thomas?” she asked.

“My head hurts really bad, so I came in here and shut out all the lights and the noise. But the noises won’t stop.”

“What noises?” He could hear the worried tone in her voice.

“The noises from Mommy and Daddy talking to me. They talk to me everyday. Don’t they talk to you?”

The next day, Grandma Bainbridge took him to go see a doctor. He had scared her and he knew it. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that they were talking to him; they made him promise.

They ran tests on him and asked him questions. He hated the doctor. He was old and his hands were too rough.

A few weeks after the tests were done, the results were in. Thomas didn’t care what was wrong with him. He liked talking to his parents. So when they went in to get the results, he sat in the corner and played with his Matchbox cars.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor began, “Thomas is clinically depressed and to cope with the loss of his parents he has these hallucinations of his parents talking to him.”

“Well, is there anything we can do?” Grandma Bainbridge chimed in.

“We can prescribe him some medication that should help.”

The doctor wrote out his prescription and that was the start of his daily routine for the past nine years.

Every morning when he woke up, he would have to take his medication. He didn’t hear his parents anymore and his grandmother said that he was living a perfectly normal life. He had friends and he even joined the soccer team at school.

But he still missed his parents. He would talk to his grandmother about this, so she came up with a plan that every year on his birthday, they would go visit them.

Life was getting better. He had a life outside of his parents’ deaths and he was beginning to feel happy again.

That was until six months ago. He got another slip at school, but this time, no one was there to pick him up. He knew what this meant; he had gone through it before. But unlike his mother, Grandma Bainbridge didn’t commit suicide; she died of a heart attack. Now, he was truly alone in life.

His grandma was the only source of getting his medication. He didn’t have a job and couldn’t afford it. So when she died, his medication supply ran out.

Ever so slowly, Thomas began to unravel like an unfinished knitted sweater. First, his headaches returned. He could no longer play soccer because every time he tried to run, his head would pound even more. Next, his grandmother began to talk to him. She would tell him to make sure to pack his lunch and all of the other little reminders she always told him. She was beginning to be annoying. His mother’s voice came next. She was constantly telling him that she loved him and that she would be seeing him as soon as she got home from work. His father’s was last. They would talk about sports and girls.

It got to the point where they were all talking to him at once and trying to tell him what to do. It made him miss them all.

***

Thomas gathers his knees into his chest and hugs them tight. He rests his chin on his knees. The rough denim material of his jeans rubs his skin raw as he begins rocking back and forth.

“It’s so hard. It’s so hard.”

Still rocking, he puts his hands on his head, one on each side. Pressing to try and get rid of the excruciating pain.

“I just want it to stop! Make it stop! Make it go away!”

He releases his head and straightens his legs out in front of him. His right hand finds its way into his coat pocket and feels the cold metal. He pulls out his father’s old revolver and stares at it for a moment. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can.

He sees his father, dressed in his uniform, with outstretched arms reaching out to hug him. How he misses those hugs.

He sees his mother standing next to him in her favorite green dress, smiling bright. How he misses her smile.

He opens his eyes; the stones in front of him are all but a blur now, but he never takes his eyes off of them. He raises the revolver and presses it against his right temple, the coldness piercing through his body. His body stiffens. He takes a deep breath in and holds it until his lungs begin to burn. He exhales and closes his eyes. He opens them just as swiftly as he had closed them.

“I’ll be seeing you, Mommy and Daddy.”

Thomas squeezes his finger, pulling the trigger. He feels an excruciating pain as he falls onto his back. Blood pools around his head, his red blood out of place on the green grass.

Breathe

This was my first submission for my fiction class.

Breathe

Breathe, just breathe, I tell myself as I face the long, winding staircase. At the top of these stairs, Derek, my best friend and the boy I secretly love, is waiting in his apartment to give me some news. The stairs look endless, as if I will never reach my destination.

Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart pounds inside my chest like a judge’s gavel in a disarrayed courtroom. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that my heart would jump right out of my chest, leaving a gaping hole. I take a deep breath, and begin my ascent. White walls flank either side of me on the hardwood stairs. With each step I take, I can’t help but think of Derek and how amazing he is.

Every time I close my eyes I can see the lock of his curly, jet black hair that always falls into his green eyes every time I make him laugh; his freckle on his right cheek; his perfectly toned body. But it’s not just his looks that make him amazing, it’s everything else. It is his gentleness and kindness towards anyone and everything. He cares for the people in his life and always puts them ahead of himself. He makes me feel good about myself whenever I am feeling bad. When I am with him, he makes me forget about everything bad in the world. The best part though, is that he tells me that his days are better when he sees me.

I remember the first time I met Derek, we were in the same math class our first semester of college. On the first day, he was late. For me, it was like a scene out of a cheesy romance movie when he walked through the door. Time seemed to slow down as I took in his beauty. He was definitely the best looking guy I had ever seen in my life. There was only one chair left when he came in. It was the chair right next to me. I couldn’t stop staring at him. When he caught me looking, he smiled. I smiled shyly back, blushed, and looked away. When our professor started his lecture, I couldn’t understand a word. When the class was over, I hadn’t taken any notes. I looked over to Derek and noticed that he hadn’t taken any notes either, but instead had drawn a cartoon of our professor. I busted up laughing as soon as I saw it. Derek joined in. Once our laughter had died down, he asked me if I wanted to go get some coffee and try to figure out what our professor just lectured on for the last hour. I accepted.

After that day, we became the best of friends. We hung out every day after every class. We would sit under the shady oak trees on the main lawn of campus and just talk for hours. We sat side by side. He always looked straight into my eyes while we talked. I looked back, but sometimes when I got too nervous, I would just look out at the passing strangers. He would tell me about his volunteer hours at a home for the elderly. He told me about his dreams for the future to live in New York City and work for a Fortune 500 company. And I told him about my dreams of becoming a Tony Award-Winning Broadway star. He believed in my dreams and I believed in his.

Finally, I manage to climb up the first flight of stairs. I pause on the landing to catch my breath. It’s warm for March and a bead of sweat drips down the side of my face. I reach up and wipe the sweat before it can drop to the floor. I lick my dry lips, noticing that they are chapped. I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out my favorite chap-stick; it smells like cotton candy. As I apply it generously to my lips, I begin to smile. The scent reminds me of one of my favorite nights with Derek.

A couple months after Derek and I met, he decided he wanted to surprise me. I wasn’t having the best week. I had failed my midterm; I had never failed anything in my life before. We ended up at one of those winter carnivals, the ones where the fair grounds look like a winter wonderland. Icicle and candy cane lights illuminated the fake snow that was spread around. They had a tall Christmas tree in the center with giant fake presents underneath the tree. It was a Tuesday night and I was surprised that the carnival was packed full of people. He took me on the Ferris wheel and the tea cup ride. But nothing he did was cheering me up. I was beginning to feel angry. There were too many people around. He couldn’t find me any vegetarian-friendly food options, so we were stuck eating cotton candy the entire night. And, on top of all that, I was freezing because I didn’t bring a jacket since I hadn’t known we were going to be outside. I hadn’t wanted to go out that night and I didn’t want to be there. I felt overwhelmed by the large crowd and the horrid day I had, I was on the verge of tears. That is when Derek grabbed my hand.

“Dahlia, we are going to have a fun night, no matter what. Let’s go find a stupid game to play,” Derek said.

He dragged me along in protest to a booth where if you land the frog on the lily pad, you get a prize. I watched as Derek tried and failed miserably four times in a row.

“Why are you even trying? You’re just wasting your money,” I told him.

“And why are you being so cynical?”

I just rolled my eyes, I wanted to leave. Derek set up his frog for his fifth try. He aimed it with precision and hit the frog at just the right moment. Amazingly, and to my surprise, the frog landed smack dab in the middle of the lily pad.

“Ha Ha, told you I could do it,” Derek bragged.

“Okay, okay, you were right, I was wrong,” I said.

“What would you like for your prize?” the person working the booth droned.

Derek looked up at the array of stuffed animals clipped up on the backboard of the booth, scanning for the perfect one: pink teddy bears with a heart that says ‘I wuv you’; a puppy dog with a heart dangling out of its mouth; and various cartoon characters I didn’t even recognize.

“I’ll take that one,” Derek told the worker, pointing at the one he wanted.

I watched as the worker pulled down Derek’s prize. It was a stuffed monkey holding a banana.

“Here. This is the last one. Enjoy,” the worker said, unenthusiastically.

“Here, I know monkeys are your favorite. Now do me a favor, cheer up. That test isn’t the end of the world, you know,” Derek said. As he handed me the monkey, he bent down and gave me a light kiss on the cheek. He was so close I could smell the cotton candy on his breath.

My cheeks were burning but he had managed to turn my horrible day into a perfect night.

My foot catches on a stair and causes me to trip a little. A smile still manages to peel across my face as I recall that night. Just like clockwork, the butterflies return to their familiar home. I look up to realize that I had managed to climb the last two flights of stairs while lost in my memory.

I walk across the landing to the heavy green door to Derek’s floor. I turn the knob a little too quickly and with that the door opens with a loud, cringing creak. A blast of cold, air-conditioned air hits me and makes my hair dance, sending a tiny chill down my spine.

I look to my right down the long hallway to where Derek’s apartment is, all the way at the end. The beige walls of the hallway are illuminated by the sun coming through the window at the end of the hall. As I begin walking, the butterflies start dancing faster to the fast beat of my heart.

The door to apartment 333 faces me. I hear the muffled sound of music on the other side of the door. I take a deep breath, pull my arm back, and knock three times in rhythm.

The door opens and Derek stands smiling at me in all his perfection. He motions for me to come in and welcomes me with the usual bear hug.

“Dahlia, I’m so glad you’re finally here,” Derek says.

“Well with the way you sounded on the phone, I came as soon as I could,” I reply.

We make our way into his tidy apartment over to the torn-up, brown leather couch and sit facing each other. That is when I notice the song that had started to play, “If It Kills Me” by Jason Mraz. Derek gives me his goofy grin that he gets when he is excited. I smile back.

“I was going to wait to tell you the news until a little later, but I just want to tell you now,” Derek says.

“Alright,” I say, sitting up a little straighter getting ready for what I have been hoping to hear for the last few months.

“You know how I went to the orchestra concert last night?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, just when the concert was about to start, this girl sits next to me. It was the only seat left in the place. At first we just smiled at each other, but when intermission rolled along, we started talking. Dahlia, she was funny. She was intelligent. And she was beautiful! After the concert I asked her if she wanted to do something and she said she did. We went out for some ice cream and took a walk on the beach. She’s perfect; the girl of my dreams…”

Derek continues on with pure joy in his eyes, but I don’t hear another word. Perfect? The girl of his dreams? I sit there, his words playing like a broken record in my head. The butterflies are no longer dancing. My heart is no longer beating. Instead, a sharp pain rises in my chest as a tiny invisible person inside of me rips my heart into a million little pieces. My throat is getting tighter and tighter. Derek is all but a blurred vision behind my tear-stricken eyes. And all I can hear is Jason Mraz reminding me, “But I never said a word, I guess I’m gonna miss my chance again.” I missed my chance.

4.21.10 1:06am

I lie awake and think

Think about it all

All it is that I miss

A hand to hold

That reassuring smile

Tender kisses

Comforting, warm embraces

Love

I lie awake and think

Think about it all

All it is that I don't miss

The fights

The tears

His dictatorship

I lie awake and think

Think about it all

That I know I'm better off

Better off without him

Unlucky

I hate how easily disappointed

I get because of him.

My friend was right,

I'm unlucky when it comes to men.

I just want to find that guy,

You know the one who doesn't disappoint.

The guy who is there for me

And loves me for me.

I guess, that's every girl's wish.

Until then, I guess I'll be disappointed

And unlucky when it comes to love.

Writer's Block

Blink. Blink. Blink.

The cursor taunts and torments you.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"Haha! Loser," it chants.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"You don't know what to write!"

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"You call yourself a writer?!"

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"You, a writer? No way in HELL man."

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Fingers poised at the keyboard,

Ready to pounce.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Nothing comes.

No words.

No ideas.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Swiftly, the mouse drifts.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

And with one quick click

Of that tiny red X,

The blinking ceases.

Defeated, yet again.

In Your Eloquence

I sit next to you

Listening to your eloquent words

I look around

And that’s when I see

You and Her.

She holds your heart

Who am I kidding

To think that I could ever hold your heart

When she still does

And as it seems

Always will.