fiction

holding hands

from time to time my vision slips
my hearing shies, my voice clips.

it clips or peaks to the highest sound, avoiding resound, leaving me with silence.
a silence where my thoughts are absent and my soul is frozen and the entity that i thought i was is captured between two shadows that split into three then into four, seven, nineteen...
not even i could explain... not even you could explain... not even they could explain... but explanations seem so meaningless now.

meaning? that was from a world that cared. a world of compassion. a world that complied to humanity's "good nature" but even then… there were only some who were liken to that view.

to often the pen slips from my grip.
to often the scissors fall and clip, clip, clip
at my skin
at my hair
at my bones, no
through my bones.

the pain is unsettling... the fever left us inane... crazed/crawling through the ash of history... scratching for content... some sort of aid...

but if you take my hand... we may just land on two feet.


but the certainty of this,
could be easily dismissed...
and your demise... my demise... their demise... it could be, it very well could be...

from time to time my vision slipped
my hearing shied, my voice was clipped.

did we make it... did we land...
---------------------------------------------------------------------

mm...


at least we're holding hands.

Cold Sheets

“Is this alright?” The boy asked after opening up the shabby motel door. The girl nodded politely, hiding her despondency half-heartedly.

“Great.” The boy stated innocently as they walked in, she after him. The boy sat down his grey messenger bag on the faded floral lace bedspread and stretched high with his arms sideways, shaking off his sweatshirt. The girl absentmindedly fiddled with the black buttons on her tidy black fit coat and concluded that the floor was more appealing than the moth-eaten chair next to the bed.

The boy looked at the girl in hopes to catch her pretty eyes but this attempt was like every other�"unsuccessful. He quickly found interest in the entertainment center that the motel had apparently prided itself on… it was missing its television. Growing bored, the boy rose and stripped to his undergarments�"another attempt to get the girl’s admiration, he failed again. Trying to hide his frustration,

“I am going to take a shower. Do you need anything?” The girl looks up to meet only his gaze, which frustrates him more,

“No, no thank you” she replies calmly. The boy turns and shuts the bathroom door with a thud. The running water begins and the girl unbuttons her coat removing the shirt that was clinging to her small frame in nervous perspiration. She pulled out a cleaner version of the same shirt and pulled it over her head with a tiny sigh of satisfaction. She grabbed her purse and pulled out a pen and a tiny black notebook… scribbling and doodling nothings.

Almost inaudibly, there was a knock at the motel door. Startled, but curious, the girl rose and stood with her hand on the door, wishing there was a window or at very least a peep hole,

“Who could it be?” her thoughts skittered to morbid entertainment and a smirk finally tugged at her mouth. She opened the door gradually as the bright summer sun trickled in. Her eyes adjusted to make the shape of the angel at the door. She stared stunned as she took in the boy she loved slowly sliding to the floor, collecting her knees with her shaking arms. He slid too, but remained just outside the door. The girl was posed towards him but chose to fixate her anxious gaze on his outline. They sat in silence for a moment before the girl decided to loosen up her cautious stance by placing a hand on the door to gain enough balance to lean against the wall. He  just watched her as she attempted her look of comfort. He smiled the smile that melted her on the inside as she returned an attempt weakly. The boy interrupted their mutual gaze by finding the floor interesting but she continued to stare. He looked up to catch her eyes frozen as he whispered,

“I miss you.” A sad smile invaded her comely mouth as she broke his stare, placing her hands on her arms, her attempt to barricade her chest. The boy began again,

“I miss you… really. I really do.” The girl nodded and shyly confided that she indeed missed him too. There was a short�"long�"silence before the girl responded again.

“How did you find me?” her arms released her chest and she reached out with one hand almost touching his lovely face, but withdrawing before contact. The boy extended his face to meet her hand and she held him gently, caressing up and down his face. The boy continued to look at the girl longingly, enjoying the familiar touch of her soft fingers. Disregarding her previous question, the girl remembered a question of serious importance; a question that caused her hand to stop under the boy’s jaw. The girl looked into his eyes more intensely and stated,

“I love you… you know that I always have regardless of status, regardless of my personal pain.” The boy held her gaze holding his breath, nervous with the thought of rejection. The girl continued,

“I can’t do this again. I can’t do this again just to be hurt once more. I love you… but you need to figure out what your ‘miss’ means. If your ‘miss’ means ‘want’, great, but if that ‘want’ isn’t ‘I will want you forever…” her words began to bleed together as he just looked at her. A chilling breeze blew in through the door causing the girl to retract her hand instinctively to cover her bare arms.

Her eyes opened.

She sat up and began to warm herself by rubbing her hands against her arms. She got to her feet and put on her coat. The boy was sound asleep in the bed, his hair still damp from his shower. The girl sighed sadly and wandered over to the moth-eaten chair, scratching into her journal.

Emerald, embroidered, leaves and photographs.

A broken light can be fixed, just ask. Imprints remain, running only seems logical.

Void. Empty. Hollow.

Weeping, the trees cry out for humanity… witnesses to despair, death… shame. Violently shaken, she sits… observing, watching, listening, waiting.

The stars are awake; there is beauty in this world. Dirty filters, calloused hearts, hesitation, broken… it continues to play… it continues to play… it continues to play… spin me around, hold me and never let me go.

Drowning isn’t pleasant. Delicate knees embrace her faultless façade as her arms envelop her frozen legs… silent tears… there’s a path down the road, but no one knows where it leads, where it ends up, where it goes… bows, arrows, and plenty of rope. And or if but… yes no.

“Those are mirrored reflections of the past my love, the past has past, please comprehend.”

 Illuminating skin, her color fades fast… her embrace goes limp, her eyes an unsettling void, empty, hollow.

Those emerald eyes lost their shine and their sorrow, austere… overstated blatant but true was this embroidered ideal offered but refused.

The leaves fell from the sky�"on fire�"covering the earth in a surreal red-orange blaze… with a gentle click it was documented…

but what’s there to remember anymore?

Now she sees.

Tattered and worn like a crushed cranberry dress with a frozen past like red meat on a counter awaiting its task.

I grab these lines of fabric gracing my collarbone’s state; shaking my head in exhausted angst.

I always thought there was hope, but blinded was I by a false faith.

These words riddled up and down my arms, up and down my skin, they are the scars of despair, fear… reminders of pain, loneliness… endeared!

All lies from a voice that I try… try so hard to forget. Running… it is my only bet, but each step, each trek, leaves a sting… a throbbing at best.

The thoughts of regret, depression merciless, I am longing for that hope… a true hope that will succeed the empty crater in my chest, in my bones, that lingering sorrow that unremittingly molests…

I want something more!

I want what people have across the world with nothing in their broken hands!

Genuine smiles, genuine joy, the contagious disease of laughter that sings…

It is no want, it is now a need…

A simple thought rings, “repent, my love. Come to me.”

The sun shined, the clouds were, and the leaves waved a gentle greeting to the everyones who waltzed by caught in their own trek of thought. The breeze was crisp, yet pleasant, and collected in the everyones’ loose strands lightly cascading to the end and jumping to play with next passer.

Two paused feet rested on the green green grass charming the paused passer by the powerful reflection of the sunshine’s rays. Within minutes the feet were convinced and begged the hands to bare them. The mouth twisted warmly into a grin as the hands met the feet, granting their humble request. A relaxed sigh escaped the curved lips and the eyes blinked taking in the beauty of such a day.

The trees lapsed… the sun gazed… the breeze forgot to breathe…

“Someone stopped!” They whispered to one another elated.

The trees shook sultrily, the sun shined luridly, and the breeze blew ardently… each one swooning over their paused passerby. To the tree’s delight they enraptured the watcher’s eyes by a simple twirl of their multi-hued leaves. To the sun’s savor, it held the watcher’s skin being painstakingly cautious of only soothing, not burning. To the breeze’s beguile, the watcher’s whole body was fair game and it rushed warmly and softly over every visible inch, enthralled with its new freedom.

The clouds looked downward in wonder of the commotion to notice the reason for such a fuss. A stab of sorrow pierced the clouds with the sentience of this paused passerby as a single drop fell from the sad puncture… collecting on the cheek of the watcher beneath. To the clouds’ great surprise the watcher’s eyes shot straight upward as a soft, “Wow,” sang from the previously silenced lips. The clouds received the watcher’s imagination and the marvel was natural and remarkably effortless. The passerby’s eyes closed as the paused arms lifted were carried, caressed, by the still-crisp breeze…

but this moment was just a pause…

inhaling deeply, the watcher’s eyes opened, its arms receding to the ground gathering and fastening the familiar leather shoes. With a sigh of passiveness and a couple tugs of the adorning garments, the paused passerby un-paused and waltzed away like all the others.

No acknowledgement, no goodbye.

The sun, the clouds, the trees, the breeze stood heartbroken… jaded but still longing after the one who had paused.

Their sudden standstill was interrupted abruptly by a tiny hand and a soft giggle.

“Tree!” Cried a little lone watcher, “Tree, tree, tree!!” The babe began to climb the (flattered) tree as the sun smiled at such a touching spectacle. The clouds clapped in glee and the breeze leapt underneath the young being carrying it to the perch-top of the tree as the day passed in the fashion of a simple soothing summer speed.

But soon (and inevitably) enough the clouds went west… the sun shooing them faster as he followed behind. The breeze calmed to nothingness and the tree still held its little visitor. With a tired yawn the tiny watcher asked to be let down. With its feet on the ground it looked upward to the sky and waved to the stars,

“Goodnight twinkles” the young watcher whispered through a yawn. The tiny one then walked closer to the base of the tree and slipped its little arms around the trunk getting so close that it looked as if the young watcher and the tree were one.

The tree sighed deeply from a real satisfaction that it would later spread to the clouds, the breeze, and the sun. 

Headlights

“It’s time you were on your way.” She pulls her coat upward by the collar and delicately conceals her mouth, like she was trying to take back what she said. I reach for her going with my latter thought. Her eyes open widely and she steps backwards to avoid my hands, her small face shaking subtly from side to side. I let my arms retract as I feel my face drain of any noticeable emotion, what the hell? She continues to pull at her collar nervously and after a few paused moments she breaks my gaze and begins to observe her fingers actions. Her shoulders were slanted inwards but she was more or less standing straight up and down. My eyes followed the lines of her legs to her feet then to her toes which were insecurely pointed towards each other. I found her face again but her eyes were resistant. What did I do? Should I ask? The seconds got longer and I am becoming more lost. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken.

“What’s wro�"up�"di” what? what? Take two, “Are you alright?” her eyes find mine, finally, but she just stares, no blinking, remaining silent. I feel my face turn anxiously to the right, body language for ‘you still need to/should answer’�"fail. I want to reach for her again; hold her like I always have. My chin resting on her head, her breath warming my now lonely neck… but the fear, reminder, of rejection keeps my arms plastered to my sides. Her eyes seem lost, I have no idea what is going on… with us, in her head, with her. I decide to attempt another inquiry,

“Are you alright?” I wish she would let her collar down so I could see her mouth. “What’s going on?” I feel my body shift as a wave of nausea engulfs me. What are you thinking? Why aren’t you talking? What did I do? Did I say something? Tell me you love me still. Tell me everything is okay. She continues to hold my gaze as my masculinity melts into adrenaline; adrenaline into fret.

Thirty seconds.

Four minutes.

Nine minutes.

Her fingers release her collar. Her lips are a line across her delicate face and her eyes, ambiguous, uncertain. She blinks a few times as her hands find her coat pockets. I feel my chin lead my face to the left,

“Some sort of communication would be nice.” My eyes close for a moment, that sounded rude. I open them to find her arms reaching farther into her pockets.

“I didn’t think I needed to say it again… this is harder for me.” I looked at her perplexed, trying to understand her words.

“What?” I ask embarrassed, hoping the confusion in the single syllable sounds somewhat reasonable. Her eyes shift upwards and then sharply to the right as her short hair quivers with the sudden decision of movement. She begins to tremble… but it’s soft, subtle, near unnoticeable. Her hands find her hair and begin grasping it for help.

Thirty seconds.

Two minutes.

Her arms cross over her chest; one hand hanging from her left shoulder, the other gripping her middle tightly. She finds my wondering eyes and her lips partly open as her head begins to shake lightly from side to side,

“It’s time you were on your way.” Each word has a polite pause between them. I play her request over and over before it finally strikes me in the way she intends. I look down. I feel my forehead scrunch as my stomach twists into knots I didn’t even know existed. Naïve me. Good things, great things… the things that take your breath away… they never last… they’re never forever. I watch her feet walk to the door as her hand undoes the lock and twists the antique knob. I grab my coat and water and make my way towards the door stopping next to her. Her eyes are tightly shut, keeping in moisture.

“Well, how could anything make this situation worse?” I think to myself contemplating my action. “Nothing could make this easier or worse.” I resolve and act. My lips meet the place right below her eye and above her cheek,

“I love you.” She trembles as the warmth from her eyes meet my lips. I pull away, fluidly, jamming my hands deeply into my coat.

I was left… and she couldn’t tell me why.

Welcome to the edge of the world

Restless�"ceaseless wrestling

Sleep rarely comes anymore

Water never comes anymore.

Smile, where have you gone?

Real is undone.

Welcome to the edge of the world

Listless�"thoughtful apathy

Harsh imagining

Hard memories

Closed eyes, what are you looking for?

Feelings, do they matter anymore?

The pause isn’t solving anything

You’re dangling from the highest tree.

                And I know that you want to let go.

                And I know that you won’t let go.

Which way is up, which way is down?

Trying to find a way out

The edge only leads to the bottom but it is foggy now.

To be certain of something is a luxury

To know that you know you and know everything

To be someone sitting and waiting to leave

Who’s me?

And why am I wandering?

Welcome to the edge of the world

Where real is undone.

Where smiles are all gone

Where “life” starts and stops like beating heart.

“You look older today.”

“Mm” she replies listlessly.

“You haven’t smiled once” without looking up she replies,

“Sure I have.”

“No, you haven’t” I state indignantly. She shrugs and places her stray dress sleeve over her shoulder again as she flips through a novel, “what’s on your mind?” There is a long pause, “are you thinking something over?” she finishes a page before locking eyes with me,

“I don’t know” her eyes are indifferent, glassy. I could see the rawness beneath her make-shift wall but she looked away before I could read anymore. Frustrated, I stood up and began to examine the surrounding trees…similarly, they were aged and silent, which brought me an odd sense of solace, but not nearly enough to get lost in. I kick the dirt and watch as it dissipates into the sea fog and promptly wander over to the edge of the cliff...if I did not know this area, I very well could have wandered right over the edge; lucky me. I exhale sharply while turning around simultaneously to check on her; I’m not sure why, I wasn’t expecting anything. She was still reading…same posture, same face, same feeling of irritation surging through my bones, but then it hit me. I look over the edge and off into the distance, vainly attempting to cut into the fog, trying to make out the bottom and the details that I have seen so many times before. I pivot towards her,

“I am going to jump” there’s a pause as my calm announcement reaches her ears and gradually sinks in. She looks up at me blankly,

“No you’re not” she states it monotonously; as a solid fact. My fists tighten and my jaw clenches. I see her eyes blink bored as she continues to hold my gaze.

“I am going to jump” she shakes her head from left to right slowly, keeping her eyes open and on me.

“No, you would never jump” I close my eyes and spin quickly so that my back is to her. Nothing’s said and she doesn’t move. Annoyed I retort,

“At least I would know something if I jumped” I feel a cold bead of water gather at the edge of my right eye, “at least I would know” I whisper as I shove my hands into my pockets. The silence continued to grow exponentionally and I turn around when the weather became unbearably cold.

“We should go...” I stop myself when I realize she is gone. A deep sigh escapes my lips and I watch my feet step one over the other. Mm…she left her book. I bend to collect it and open it randomly to find two blank pages. Perplexed, I flip through the rest to find out that the entire book is blank. My body shudders and my eyes shut tightly as the book escapes my grip hitting the ground with an empty thud.

Once I was an apple tree, now I’m just a shadow

There's No Such Thing
as Objectivity.

no matter the subject
no matter the issue
no matter the person

there will always be that something
that one thing
that bothers like no other.

no matter the cause
no matter the cue
no matter the century

there will always be frustration
misunderstanding
bitterness
strife

and who can determine which--of these--is the lesser vanity?
perhaps, it would be, could be

the mass who paint over them with their hopes of a make-shift peace..
a peace that falls to pieces because it is unnatural, constructed; a facade of bliss and glee.
the same mass that thrives off inconsistencies to make sense, to live, to breathe.

perchance it may be, can be,

the multitude of those who claim objectivity..

where everything is non-obligatory, thought out, screened.

quite possibly, it might be,

the brevity that state they know because they have a book that tells them so..

and then there are all those multiples in between.

no matter who

no matter where

no matter why

no matter what

the complaints are singing

you’re are screaming.

hiding from real life

nothing has mended

it has ended

and meaning has been sewn together with strings that are moth-eaten

sit down, inhale, exhale, think, think, think.

sip from the top but finish the whole drink

and if you don’t finish, don’t feel like you’re entitled to rights about the entire thing..

and don’t ever claim or hide in your objectivity

because honestly, there’s no such thing.