Mirror mirror on the wall

I wish I could tell you that it all gets easier from here.  To "move on and learn," or even only to move on.  It doesn't stop though, this isn't the end of the sore raw feeling in your chest.  You were young and full of hope, I know.  Beautiful eyes and a quick smile, happy to daydream away your monochromatic life.  I know you because I am you-past present and future.  In the beginning, I was disdainful.  How could you fall for the simplest, oldest tricks in the book.  And then I look back, through the mirror of you to this:

So I'm a romantic, or supposed to be I guess.  But some days, sometimes I'm really ready to take my Austen and throw it out the window.  Setting people up to believe in simple things like "love..."  nothing simple about it.  But I know that I would plod outside, dust it off and try to put the gold-leafed pages back to order.

I'm sorry, for what it's worth.  I wonder now if I was truly saving you or if I was simply ending your fairytale sooner than it would have organically.  Write, or sing, or paint or play- I don't know what it is that you need to do to move beyond this.  But try to.

Forget what you can and bury the rest.  In a few years you can dust it off and somehow it will be a little duller and a little easier to understand.  Use your hate, use your tears, don't waste them on social media. 

You are strong.  
I am strong.
We are strong.

Promise me one thing: in two years, or five years, or ten- when you finally meet your mirror don't be too quick to laugh and dismiss her.  Try to help, try to teach, and hesitate for a moment before you jump to end their fairy tale.

The dark

The car is out of control and before I know it I'm flying though the windshield, airless floating through time.  Everyone always says it's your life that flashes before your eyes, but for me it is only the last few hours.  Black skeletons of trees surround the car and their imposing limbs seem to mock my fate.  I don't realize I've landed until I feel the pain on my leg of crunched bones, my arm bent awkwardly behind my head and my head forced to stare at the night sky.
She will be so angry about the car.  And here I will die alone.  Those two thoughts are my only company now, aside from the orange tongues of flame licking the carcass of the great metal beast beside me.  She will be so angry, and I am alone and I didn't get to say goodbye.  He will hate me because I can't say goodbye. 
Suddenly a crashing through the trees, loud and metallic- a blinding light cuts my face and before I can shield my eyes I am awake.
I've sweat through the sheets and the stripped yellow shirt- blindly I swat away blankets, swimming in pillows until my hand finally rests on warm skin.  With a sleepy grunt he turns and I take let out my breath, I hadn't even realized I was holding it in.  I am safe, I tell myself; safe and loved and I don't need to say goodbye because he's still right here beside me.  The dreams are getting increasingly disturbing- two nights ago it was an acid bath and before that a train dropping off into the ocean.  The only reason I slept at all was the knowledge that in the morning I would awake to the usual ruckus in the kitchen and this sleeping saviour beside me. 

And now, tonight, what do I have?  Enough alcohol to make sure I fall asleep, surely, but in the morning only spiders and dust bunnies to wake me.  So sleep is, once again, a luxury I will have to do without.  I've been here before, I know that sleepless nights lead to a half life, drifting past people as though nothing really exists outside my own mangled sleep deprived brain.  Wishing only for those few precious seconds where I can sleep without dreaming. 

Sleepless Dreams

I'm completely exhausted, tired to the point of delirium but somehow I can't close my eyes.  Every time I try, I see beautiful brown green eyes and a smile that lights up my world.  Tonight I am happy, tonight I am loved and free.  For the first time in years I feel young again, young and beautiful.  
The night we met, he spun me around and kissed my next.  Gorgeous, he called me, Gorgeous, whispering it to my white pleated collar, "You are so fucking gorgeous."  He walked me back, I think, I've tried so hard to remember- we talked about money or politics but really it was his smile that captivated me.  I tried to go home, thought I was going home, but somehow my next memory is of two bodies crushed into one twin xl bed- a sweet whisper in my ear begging me to stay, telling me that we could just be together and that was enough.  And once again, I was Gorgeous. 
It might have been then that I felt my soul tugging at me, feeling so close to it's match, or maybe that's just a retrospective leap of the imagination.  Either way, weeks later I found a way to deliberately put myself in his path, and there he was again with that same beautiful smile.
I love him now, love him comfortably and passionately all at the same time- and more than anything in the world I want to belong to him.  I'm exhausted by distance and the push and pull of everyday life, but somehow when I close my eyes, the smile is far more persuasive than sleep.

Sandstorm

In my dream there's wind and sand and the dry air sticks to the roof of my mouth.  I'm looking, searching despratly and silently for something I dread finding.  He's here, I know- this place is haunted by sweat and piercing blue eyes.  Row upon row of cooridor walls and every step is one closer to inevitable heartbreak. 
When I find him it's unsurprising, there is the farmiliar faded brown shirt and dirty blond hair cropped close.  And that's when everything goes grey.  No breath, no tears, nothing at all except for the words I've been failing to say for years.
In my dream it's too late, it's always too late.

Doors

There are so many different shades of me here.  I see them in the shadows, on the brick paths and darting in and out of imposing buildings.  Some laze in the sun on grassy lawns, others linger in the doorway for a farewell kiss-a few drag their downcast faces across the lawn in an endless battle against unseen opponents. 
I am everything here, and I am nothing.  Somewhere there is a girl smiling down from a balcony while torches burn and one figure in black gazes back at her lithe figure.  Less than a quarter mile away there is the girl who didn't make it lying face down in a ravine after a flight with a jarring end.
A million places I could walk tonight, and see a million things- but somehow my feet take me back to the beginning of this path that I am on now.  Through a door and up a set of stairs, pausing to rest a hand on a worried knob.  Locked of course, and then back out and up another short flight to stare unseeingly at a door that I cannot open even if I had the key.  I know what is inside, pain and love and desire. 
I have followed this tradition that a million coeds before me knew; not a sorority ritual or a plank of wood-but the loss of innocence and the first real glimpse of the world.  I pity the girl behind that door, and I'm proud of her.  I know that she has years of hurt ahead of her but I also know that this one survives. 
My first day back on campus I suck away and stared at this door, somehow this is the one shade I can't escape.  I suppose somehow that means something, whether or not I'm willing to admit it. 

And tomorrow I will go through with a charade that is pure pageantry, but still it will mean that this place no longer belongs to me.  I pick my pieces up and walk away and leave only shades and shadows and one brown locked door.

Astrology 101

 Cocktail parties are just plain boring.  She thinks this to herself as she bats blue eyes and offers her simpering smile to tall strangers with gleaming watches and crisp bow-ties.  Boring, and they smell like the old woman perfume that wafts from Dolores Ebony as she fills her fourth cup of spiked punch and titters to her date that she isn't a day over forty.  Somewhere around the room her own date is awkwardly tripping over his shoes as he rushes to introduce himself to the high profile account executive who just arrived.  Sighing she stirs the maraschino cherries at the bottom of her cup and wonders if it would be impolite to pick them out by their long stems.

"You look bored."  A startled glance up reveals a pair of brown eyes standing in front of her, one brow arched in a knowing smirk.
"I'm sorry, excuse me- was I in your way?"  She's realizing that perhaps she's had a glass too much of the punch herself, because now the room seems too warm and she can feel a blush spread across her cheeks.
"Well if you were I'm glad- come on and smile, I'm only teasing."  Across the room the band swings into action again, and couples all around begin to make their way to the temporary black and white dance floor. The young man is still smiling at her.  "You have a date tonight?"  She looks around, half shrugging;
"He's around here, somewhere...."
"Well, how about a walk outside?"  He's suddenly shy and glances down before she replies.
"Sure, I mean I would love to get out of here for a few minutes, but I don't know where we would go..."
"Oh, don't worry.  I know a place."  The gleam is back in his eye and before she can think twice he is off weaving through the room and disappearing out the patio door.

The cool air is calming and she can feel the heat vanishing from her cheeks.  The back porch has a few party goers that all share the same tired look on their faces that she is sure was mirrored on her own minutes before.  He is standing against the porch railing and she moves to stand beside him;  he smells clean and faintly of musk.
"The stars are beautiful tonight."  He doesn't look at her when he speaks; she watches him watch the sky, fascinated.
"They're pretty, I've always loved imagining what they're really like." 
"I think they're powerful, there are whole worlds, civilizations out there that we have never discovered.  Out in space... I would love to see everything from out there sometime."
"You mean like the earth?"
"Sure, yeah the earth but everything else too-we have such a finite perception of the world.  We only know what we can see, touch-everything else is pure guesswork.  What are you standing on?"  He turns to look at her and his eyes are burning, she looks around for an answer, cheeks flaming to life again."
"The porch, I suppose."
"Yes but under that?"
"The ground."
"And what's under the ground?"
"The earth's core, I suppose.  Molten lava and all that."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, of course.  All the science says so."
"Yes, but how do you know it's there?"  She pauses, meeting his gaze, captivated and a little frightened by his passion. 
"I suppose I don't."
"Exactly."  Silence falls again, and when he breaks it his tone is softer and more reverant.
"Old stories from all over the world talk about giants roaming the earth.  Today we suppose this is just a per-historic exaggeration but how do we know it's not true?  What if there is a whole world beneath our feet, giants and all sorts of things we thought were just fairytale."  They're standing close now, and without even realizing it had happened she realizes his arm is around hers and they're staring skyward together.  Abruptly he turns and takes her hand,
"Wanna go on an adventure?"  For a moment she pauses, thinking about the poor bumbling fool inside by the punch bowl.
"Of course."

Her heels clutched in her arm she follows him around the vast expanse of lawn to the front of the house, ducking past lit windows and around neatly trimmed hedges.  At the front of the house he stops in beside the picture windows.  Through the half drawn blinds she can see the band and bits of people dancing and talking, but he isn't looking through through the glass.
"Ready?"
"For what?"  His brow is arched again and he simply points up; leaning her neck back she can see a roof three and a half stories above.
"How are we getting up there?"  He smirks and points at an old trellis winding it's way past the windows and up into the darkness.
"We climb."

The wood is old but sturdy, after the first ten feet she learned her lesson about looking down.  At the second story the trellis ends, but the roof flattens out above be the raised ceiling of sitting room. He looks at her, offering his hand to steady as she climbs over the lip of the roof to sit beside him.
"You want to stop here? I didn't even ask if you were afraid of heights."
"I've never had the chance to find out, but lets keep going."
"You sure?"  His are burning with passion again, but this time they burn into hers.  She nods and the grin spreads from his eyes to his lips as he jumps up and leads her away from the edge.  There is an old wrought iron fire ladder in the shadows; rung over rung, hand over hand they climb-her bare toes gripping the cold metal.  Finally his foot disappears above her and strong arms reach down to pull her up the last couple of rungs.  The air seems cooler up here, and the wind whips around them and without knowing how she got there she is bundled in beneath his arm.  Spreading his jacket before them, he stretches out and looks expectantly at her. Thirty seconds later she is in his arms and they both stare skyward, his fingers weaving themselves into her hair.
"This is perfect."  The words escape her in a sigh, and he brushes her lips with his fingertips.
"Shhh."
The night whispers around them and she closes her eyes, safe in the knowledge that nothing is for certain. 

Paradise found

There is nothing better than a soft kiss and a dimpled cheeked smile and a whispered "don't go..."  Curling deeper into the oversized shirt that smells like sweat and deodorant and cologne, I kiss the fingers that are stroking my arms.  Safe, for a few hours.  Here there is no heartbreak, there are no lies to be told and no pain to ignore.  I can't stop laughing.  He is worried, I know, that I'm laughing at him but I'm not.  I'm laughing at the world, for proving me right.  I stopped looking, I gave up- I was going to let the pieces lie and walk away. And then, this.

You told me not to beat myself up, but darling that's just what I do.  So here is my compromise: Thirty seconds of moderate self-loathing, and when I'm done writing I will let it all slide out the back of my head and hope that it isn't sticking in yours. 

I guess what it comes down to is this: I am sick to my stomach and shaking because of my own actions, and because I hurt you.  You, who have been so incredibly kind and sweet and understanding; you who I'm falling for more and more every day. I daydream of being wrapped in your arms for all of eternity, and I am the fool standing in my own way. 

There is more that I want to say but it involves a little four letter word and I'm still terrified of saying too much.  I just know that I'm falling into something with you that I won't be able to stop, and I don't want to. 

Right now I would give anything to look up into your beautiful warm eyes and hear you tell me that you care.  Instead, I'll do just as you said and let the hot water take my tears and my guilt down the drain.

Eden

The odd jumble of shops that made up Main street seemed to lean into each other for support in the heavy summer heat.  Inside the grocery store, a tired sounding man announced over the wireless that it was the sixteenth straight day of record breaking temperatures, and to please remember to wear adequate sun protection and not run the sprinklers between the hours of eleven and six.
A girl in a sundress perched on the curb, long pale legs stretched before her and a book draped across her lap.  She sat hunched, squinting down at the bleached white pages that reflected the glaring light.  Her auburn curls were messily tumbling around her shoulders and she didn't look up as the purr of an engine approached.  The door slammed in the parking space to her left and she flipped the page.
"Excuse me, miss?"
"Hmmm?"  Her eyes didn't leave the page.  He waited for a moment and then seemed to decide that this was as much of an acknowledgement as he was likely to receive. 
"Well, you don't know where a fellow could get a bite to eat around her, do you?  I'm just passing through, a visitor..."  She snorted, still not looking up.
"You're all just visitors.  But yes, I suppose I do.  Wait a moment, I'm almost done with this chapter and the Count is about to escape the Château d'If..."  He stood, idly fingering a quarter and watching her as she sucked a deep breath in through her teeth.
"Poor old Abbé Faria.  You wanted to eat?  This way."  With surprising speed she was on her feet and tucking the book into her bag, she had taken three steps before she realized the stranger was still watching from the curb.  "You hungry or not?  The Colonel's has cold soda and sandwiches.  Come on."

The shop was refreshingly dark and cool, the girl strode confidentially to the boy behind the counter and pointed at the pastries.
"Un croissant s'il vous plaît!"  The boy looked bored but seemed to understand because he put the buttery treat into a brown sack and handed it to her over the register.  The sandwhiches were in a big case at the back, the man found a salami on rye and followed her to the counter.  It was plain but fresh, and they had an excellent view of the main street.
"This is such a quaint little town."  She shot him a venomous look, before delicately unwrapping her buttery paistrie. 
"I despise the word quaint, it's entirely condescending.  I suppose my town is just as important and yours or any others, if not more.  We just have the misfortune of aesthetically pleasing buildings." 
"Well, of course, no disrespect meant..." They fell back into silence.  Finally he crumpled the sandwich wrapper and stood.
"I don't mean to bother you further, but you don't happen to know of a boarding establishment in town? It seems my plans have unexpectedly changed and I have no reservation."  She laughed for the first time, and looked him directly in the eye.
"You're lucky for this heat, normally you can't get a room from here until Augusta in July...but this heat has been keeping all the visitors away.  No one likes a whale watch if they're sweating too hard to see the puffins.  I'll show you to Mrs. Peabody's."  She waited for him to gather his hat and then swung the door open with the tinkle of a bell.  The boy watched them leave the shop, his eyes following the yellow dress until it was down the street. 

The old Victorian house was set by the water, the girl stopped at the end of the drive and pointed.  "I've got to be getting on home now, but you're close enough.  Priscella will put you up for a fair price.  Goodbye."  And with that, she was off down the lane, whistling a melody and swinging her bag until she was out of sight.  
Priscella Peabody was a kind woman, a widower who told him the story of her late husband's untimely death at sea while she checked him in. 
"It was a horrible Nor'easter, the worst we've seen in nigh on fifty years, completely unexpected!  Two fishing boats didn't come back that night, and two others who had gone out to look at the swells never came back.  Poor Mr. Peabody, he left me with this old family house and it was all I could do to fix it up.  Now, you'll be in the room on the second floor-it's usually let but you're in luck, I just had a cancellation last minute this afternoon.  Oh, Mr. Peabody would be proud if he saw the place today!  We do very well for ourselves, of course some summers are better then others, but hey you can only reap what you plant my mother used to say.  Now breakfast is at eleven, and the bath is at the end of the hall.  Do enjoy your evening and let me know if there is anything at all I can do for you."  

The room was pleasant enough, decorated in the old style with chintz chairs and a four posted bed.  It was a tad bit feminine for the man, but then he supposed he had never had much of a taste for interior decorations.  He set out his shaving things and then changed into his pajamas, pondering the events of the day.  The girl in the yellow dress, his friend's unexpected cancellation; yes overall he supposed it had all been quite exhausting.  He pulled the covers close, despite the heat, and let himself drift off into oblivion. 

Morning seemed to come almost as quickly as he had closed his eyes.  The sun stretched it's long fingers across the bed as he had neglected to close the blinds the night before, though he didn't suppose that it would matter because once again the debilitating heat had descended.  
By the time he made it downstairs for breakfast all the other guests had departed, when he told Mrs. Peabody that he supposed he would just take another stroll around town and take in the scenery she insisted on giving him her guidebook and a good bit of her own advice as to the local attractions.  Armed with these, he set off on foot.

"Thunder Hole, the majestic beauty of the rocky coast meets the power of the ocean as waves sweep into an underground chasm and boom over the boulders.  The unwary visitor is likely to be soaked by ten to fifteen foot rushes."  The hole seemed not to be in the mood to thunder, instead it let out a soft "plunk" as each wave crested and then swept back out to see.  Craning over the guardrail, the man watched with disappointment as a bit of flotsam drifted in, and out, and then back in the underwater cave again.  A far cry from the grand and frightening spectacle promised.  Turning away, he noticed a familiar bunch of auburn curls on the other side of the observing platform.  She was in a red dress today, and her book was nowhere in sight. For a moment he stood watching her; she seemed deep in contemplation with little furrows in her brow.  As he approached he could hear her murmuring to herself, 
Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine..."
"Counting time?"  She didn't seem at all startled to see him standing so close to her, she glanced back at the water.
"No, the waves.  I can never seem to make a hundred.  Ninety, or was that ninety-one?  Damn." 
"Awe, shucks I am sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"No matter, I'll just come back tomorrow."
"Well, what are you doing now?  If you have a minute, perhaps you could show me..." he consulted Mrs. Peabody's dog-eared guide book, "Sand Beach?  Or Bubble Rock?"  She shrugged, still watching the water rush in and out.
"Sand beach is just a bunch of old ground up sea-shells, and bubble rock is just a silly stone that happens to be on the side of the mountain.  Probably always will be, if the McAllister boys couldn't push it over with a levy.  But sure, I have nothing much to do anyway."  

The morning was spent in a very pleasant fashion, she was indeed a much better guide then the thirty-some-odd year old advice his book offered.  At her insistence they skipped bubble rock and went into town for cold Italian ice instead.  They walked up and down the streets eating it and looking into the little shops and restaurants.  
"Used to be big hotels all through here, until the great fire.  My mother said it was an act of God that started it, burning all the wealth away and leaving something here for us locals.  I don't know if I believe in God, but it sure was a great convenience for folks that had been trying to buy land for years and couldn't compete."  

He didn't quite know what to say to this, but she didn't seem to want a response anyway; she was leading the way to a park bench on the green.  Behind them the town clock chimed six pm, and the whistle at the fire-station across town let out a wheeze.  Looking at her, he realized for the first time that her eyes were the exact color of the ocean, blue and grey with little flecks of gold.  For the first time, he realized that he had never even asked her name.  She noticed him staring, and just as he was about to speak she stood.
"I had best be off home.  This really was quite the pleasant day.  You're not such a bore, after all I suppose."  He gave a half laugh, wondering and rather hoping that this was her attempt at humor.  "You had better be getting off home too now, there's a storm blowing in."  She gestured at the trees, and sure enough he realized that their rustling had increased by ten fold in the last quarter hour.
"Can I give you a lift somewhere?  I don't want you to get caught out in bad weather..."  She just shook her head and started off on a path across the green opposite from the direction they had come.  She was nearly fifty paces when she turned and raised her voice against the rising wind;
"You have anything...after...?"  He shook his head, gesturing that he couldn't understand and she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "You have anything to do after dinner?"  He shook his head again and she smiled and called once more "Meet me at Thunder Hole around nine, it will be a spectacular show tonight."  

Priscella Peabody fussed over him all through dinner, continuously pushing servings on to him until he declared that he was too stuffed to eat another mouthful.  "Well now, you had best be parking your car in our garage tonight, that storm is fixing to set in and I don't think she'll be leaving before the morning.  And I'll put some extra blankets in your room, warm as it is-perhaps this will finally break the heat.  A good thunderstorm might be just what this town needs, yes indeed."
"I was thinking I might take the car out once more and get a look at Thunder Hole, you know before the storm really sets in."  Priscella nearly dropped the plate she had just removed from his place and turned on the spot.
"Of all the foolhardy ideas, of course you shouldn't go down, don't you know the swells get to be fifteen feet above the cliff?  You visitors and your hair-brained ideas.  No, you had best just go upstairs and go to bed and wait for it all to blow over."  
Fifteen minutes later however when it became clear that she wasn't going to convince him out of his plan she insisted on dressing him in an old yellow slicker and pair of boots that had been her late husbands. 
"Well, he certainly doesn't need them anymore and I just can't be a good christian and send you out in a storm with nothing but that light sweater.  Come on now, are you sure you don't want the hat as well?  No?  Well all right then, I'll leave a light in the hall on for you.  Of all the ridiculous ideas..." She continued her monologue about ignorant visitors even as he let the front door close behind him.

The wind had picked up even more now, there were leaves dancing around him as he leaned into the brewing gale.  The road looked different at night, and he nearly missed the pull off that had seemed so obvious in daylight.  He sat hunched in his car for a moment, wondering if he shouldn't perhaps just listen to the innkeeper's advice and turn tail for home, when he spotted her on the rocks below.  Taking a deep breath he opened the door and plunged into the night. The rain had started falling now, big slow drops at first but soon coming down faster and harder, stinging the uncovered skin on his face and neck.  He was grateful to the late Mr. Peabody for his slicker that preserved the illusion that parts of him were dry.  
Reaching the guard rail, he let out a great halloo, but the wind seemed to whip his voice out of his throat before it could reach his lips let alone the solitary figure on the rocks below.  He slowly began inching his way down the steps and over the slick rock to the observing platform.  The docile plunking of earlier had been replaced by the loud WHOOSH and KAPASH of water being forced mercilessly into the tiny underground opening; when he was halfway down he could see the white tail of a monster as it rushed into the chasm.  A moment of silence seemed more shocking than any of the pandemonium, and then the explosion of water engulfed him.  Ten, twelve, fifteen feet in the air and rising still further, thrown up by some powerful underground demon.  He shivered and steadied himself on the rail, inching further and further to the lone girl who was standing stock still.  
She didn't seem to see him, even when he was right beside her.  Her eyes were unfocused and her lips were moving, once again.
"Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-seven, ninety-seven..."  Gently he put a hand on her arm and she came out of her reverie, calmly. 
"I never can get past ninety-seven."  
"This is amazing, fantastic!"  She simply nodded and pointed at the rocks bellow.  
"This is where I come to feel alive."  She seemed vulnerable, for the first time just then.  Something like sadness was in her eyes and instinctively he put an arm around her.  She didn't shrug it away, and they stood there for a moment, in the heart of the storm watching the world crash around them.  Finally she turned and looked straight into his eyes.
"There's something even better than this, you know."  He smiled down at her, thinking how sweet it felt to have her small frame in his arms.
"You're the guide, show me."  She pointed, on the other side of the guard rail there was a rock that jutted out over the watery chasm.  It was barely six feet away, but in the madness that six feet was an incalculable distance. 
"You're not serious...."  Before he could finish the sentence she had darted out from beneath his arm and slipped under the rail.  In two steps and a short leap she was on top of the rock, laughing and smiling for him to join her.   Taking a deep breath and clenching sweaty palms, he edged his way under the metal rail.  Gripping it firmly behind him with both hands he searched carefully for his next footing on the wet rock.  Step by agonizing step he moved across the gap, until finally he stretched his arms forward and finally grasped the wet boulder and pulled himself up.  
She was lying at the pinnacle, waiting, and when he finally hunched himself down beside her she grabbed fistfuls of his curly brown hair and pulled him into a long embrace.  When they broke apart she was looking into his eyes again.
"You're much braver than you look."  He smiled despite himself and then laughed in surprise when another monstrous wave sent a cascade of foam up past their heads.  They lay there, together for some minutes until she seemed to come alive again.
"You know, I really am very sorry.  Very sorry indeed.  You're such a nice man, this was a horrible thing to do."  
"Don't be sorry-I'm perfectly fine and I'm enjoying the hell out of this.  You really do know how to show a fellow a good time."
"You see, when I first met you, you were just another stranger, but now I feel I know you which is why I'm so sorry..."  Impulsively he pulled her into another kiss.  He felt her body sink into his, and then harden again.  Breaking away he only had time for a glimpse at the tear on her cheek before her arm was under him, shoving hard- he was falling and then, a cold wet plunge into eternity.  

Back at the inn Mrs. Peabody was packing a man's things into an old ceder chest.  Glancing towards the door she clutched her chest in surprise before turning back to the bed.
"My goodness, Anna, must you always sneak up on me like that?  It's not good for an old woman's nerves!" The girl in the yellow dress watched the woman bustle about, languidly picking at the hem of her skirt.
"It's done, you know."
"Well I figured as much, since you're here.  I don't know why you needed my help with this, it seems you had everything just fine and under control on your own thank you very much."  The girl shrugged, sighing. 
"This is how it's meant to be.  Here.  I'll make the bed for you, I'm restless.  Get some sleep."  The woman cast a dark look toward her, but did as the girl bid and shut the trunk with a snap.
"Well, good night then.  But don't you go mixing with my regular guests now, I'm trying to run an establishment of good repute here."  When the woman had left, the girl wandered over to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room.  Lovingly she pulled out a red frock, and then a yellow twin to the one she was wearing.  Finally she swept her fingers along the back of the drawer, and gently brought out an old yellowed clipping from the back.  

The Bar Harbor Times, 30th July, 1934. 
Three are confirmed dead and four more are still missing after the storm that tore through the town last tuesday evening.  Mr. Peabody along with the crew of his boat and Mr. Jones and his vessel never returned to the dock after getting caught in the nor'easter.  Anna Summers and her fiance Samuel Grant were last seen on the rocks near Thunder Hole where they had gone sightseeing.  Summers, 24, and Grant, 26 were planning to be married this coming August at the Ledgelawn inn.  Details of funeral arrangements are forthcoming. 

The girl brushed her fingers across her smiling likeness in black and white.  "They're never as smart as you were, Sam.  Goodnight."  Shutting the drawer with a snap, she caught up a copy of The Count of Mote Cristo and with a flick of a yellow hem was gone.

Daydreaming

Six and a half hours later and I wake with my phone affixed to my cheek.
"Mmmmm, don't go-" Opening my eyes I immediately squeeze them shut again and desperately try to return to the beautiful dream.  But now, my pillow stubbornly remains a pillow and the curly brown locks have been replaced with the cold grey of my laptop.
"Damn."  No pretending now, so I slide out of bed and throw the blue robe over my shorts.  It's an optimistic gesture for this town in the dead of winter, my toes curl against the cold linoleum.  The tea is better made on the stove but instead I slide the mug into the microwave and stand hugging myself for two minutes, until the too-cheerful DING!  Sitting at the table, I can no longer stop my thoughts from wandering.
"Wake up.  Wake up wake up wake up, you must be dreaming. There is no way that someone would care this much for you, for you who has heard for years that you don't deserve true tenderness."  And yet... this newly found independence has been invigorating.  Three weeks since my last crying fit, longer since the last time I couldn't breath-making daring decisions and remembering not to ask permission. 
I am remembering myself, I suppose.  And no, I can't give myself away again just yet-but somehow I think I might have already begun without even realizing. 
Outside the sleet is making the drive into a sheet of ice, but the tea is warming my fingers and my phone happily buzzes. 
I can't help but to smile.  I have a world to discover; dinners and hockey games and long walks to the fairgrounds.  There are hikes and inside jokes and strong arms that want to hold me tight.  And I have myself to fall in love with again. 
The sleet falls and my bed is seducing me back into it's warm depths; it really is a lovely day in this tiny town.

Losing, me (originally posted on March 1 2010 on K)

You're losing me. I tell you no but it's not true. Every day our conversations get a little blanker, every day we say less and less with more and more words.
I live mostly in remembrances.
When we first started talking, when we unwrapped the truths of each other layer by layer. It was more then a first kiss or a first night spent together, it was the first time you asked me a question and I asked one back; the first starry night and the first freezing cold walk.
I tried, once, to remember that night with you.
Too cold, let's not stay out long, ok? Just around the block? Ok I'll agree, but in that moment I have lost the magic and so stumble beside you trying only to keep up.
Everyone goes through this, I tell myself. Everyone comes to the end of the honeymoon and the beginning of reality. But it's more then that. I see you slipping father away day by day, living more and more in Virtual Reality. Some days I ask you questions, things I don't care, will never care about. But you seem excited when you answer them, as excited as you once were to have me in your life.
So then, there is a time limit I suppose. I'm sick of watching you slip away minute by minute, retreating father and farther into your cave of a room. There will be a time, soon I think, when I will say ENOUGH.
You will lose me then, but looking on perhaps we will both realize in years to come that you lost me ages ago.

Sleeping Fits (originally posted March 22, 2010 on K.)

You fell asleep again today. We were in the middle of a conversation, I was trying to be coy. You were there until all of a sudden you weren't. I want to know why.
Why?
Am I not smart, pretty, funny, interesting enough?
Because it must be me. It has to be me. I can't hold you for five minutes and yet tonight you played a game for three hours, three hours spent on something that's not real.
I want to yell at you and show you that I am real and I am here, at least for now; that I love you. But I choke and only the last part comes out. Then you tell me that you don't want to hear it anymore.
All we ever say is I love you and I miss you.
But this is my life I scream in my head. I am nothing but missing and loving you.
You have other things in your life, other voices to talk to and other worlds to explore. Even if they don't exists they must have something I don't.
I failed you.
I'm sorry.
I just want to know how I went wrong.
How?
 

Cheers, Darling.

The beer was warm that night and she was gone in a flash of brilliantly red hair that set his heart on fire.   Home was too empty, so instead he threw a jacket over his arm and went searching for loneliness down at Hooligans.   The walk didn’t take nearly long enough, and he wasn’t drunk enough not to notice Andy and Jade watching him from the booth by the pool table; Jade, surreptitiously fingering her phone under the table.  Small town news, he supposed, traveled faster than even modern technology allowed.

“Heya, Ty.  Beer and fries?” 

“Just the beer, thanks Jack.”  His normal seat was surrounded by a second cousin with overly bleached hair and a grade school friend turned ex.  Catching the beer as it slid across the bar, he turned and moved to the other end of the bar where the only company was a stranger.  It wasn’t that unusual to have unknowns stop by the bar, it was a popular midway stop for truckers and the yearly migration of loggers, but it was usual for them to be female wearing grey business skirts and heels.  Ignoring her company he settled into his beer and his anger.  With every sip he drowned out the looks he was getting from across the room; when it was too much not to notice he set the empty back with a force that made Jack raise a brow before wordlessly refilling it. 

Turning his back on the bar and digging quarters from his pocket he grabbed a cue from the wall and headed for the green felt topped table.  Methodically he knocked ball after ball into the pockets, playing until his pockets were empty of change and then silently handing Jack a five and waiting as he counted out ten more games worth of quarters.  Three games and six more beers and the seven ball rocketed off the table and rolled past Jades handbag towards the bar.  Cursing he didn’t notice her until she was too close to look away.

“You favor the left and center, but every time you try to make a shot to the right your angle is off.”  She was too close and dressed to nice, but more importantly she was the only person in the bar who didn’t know better than to leave him the hell alone.  

“Your timing is off.  I came here alone, I mean to leave here the same way.”

“You’re drunk, Tyler Long, and you live too far away to get back alone.”

“And you’re a nosy bitch- I don’t know who you are or how you know me, but you should leave.”  He looked towards the bar, hoping to catch Jack’s attention, but the bartender-bouncer had slipped into the back room.

“You’re wallet, Tyler.  You left it at the bar after you bought your weight in quarters.”  She held up the worn leather and he quickly shoved it into his back pocket.  Looking closer he realize that she wasn’t unattractive, blue eyes danced under dark auburn curls.   “You’re drunk and you should go home.”

“Course I’m drunk, that’s why people come to Hooligan’s, to get wasted.  It’s nonea your business if I am.”

“Yes, but since I’m here as a concerned citizen, I’m making it my priority to get you home.”  She was making fun of him, he thought.  Teasing.  A crooked smile cracked his lips.

“You tryin’ to take me home?”  She sighed, annoyed.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.  I’m going to make sure you get home and then you’re going to let me stay on your couch or your floor, if you don’t have one.  My car’s got a bad sparkplug, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future until I get it replaced.  Going to see the guy downtown on…Franklin street? Tomorrow.”

“Mike’s a good guy, he’ll get you what you need. Guess you can stay, if you need, but I hope you’re not planning on comin’ back in those.”  He cast a dubious eye at her three-inch stilettos.  She smiled, wryly. 

“I’ll manage.”

            The house was chilled, autumn was turning to winter and soon it would be wood-fire weather again.   Tyler switched on the lights, and as a courtesy to his guest, turned the heat up a few degrees.  Sticking his hand in his pockets, he turned to find her surveying the small living room. 

            “Live alone?”  He shrugged.

            “Since recently, yeah.”  His eyes strayed to the throw over the armchair, quilted lilac and salmon, clearly not his own decorating style.  “Well, Miss…”

            “Ms. King, actually.” 

            “No first name?” 

            “Not tonight.  Maybe tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.

            “You sure you don’t want to come upstairs?  The bed is much more comfortable than this old couch….”
            “Good night, Mr. Long.”  Grabbing the throw, she threw it decisively over the couch and pointedly sat.

Upstairs Tyler threw his keys and phone onto the bedside table, (Not “her” bedside table, he reminded himself) and plucked a long red hair off the pillow.  She couldn’t even keep her damn body to herself; in that moment he let himself feel the ache that the beer had only begun to dull.  Tomorrow, maybe he would find out the name of the pretty young woman who was staying on his couch.  Tomorrow, he would find out what she did and where she came from.  Tomorrow…

Somewhere, there was bacon sizzling.  His head was still swimming but there was light pouring through the open blinds.  What the hell?  Where was she?  She always closed the blinds on days that he went down to the bar…joked that as a future housewife she better get used to her place in domestic society.  Where…? 

Oh.  Memory flooded back, it wasn’t his fiery vivacious sweetheart downstairs, it was the mysterious woman who wore heels in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.  Dragging on sweatpants he hauled himself downstairs.  She was wearing the same clothing as last night, but her shirt was un-tucked and she had a spatula in her hand.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Hmpf.”  He filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter, watching. 

“I made enough for two.  I don’t normally do the whole making breakfast thing, but then I don’t normally sleep on strange men’s couches either.  I walked into town for eggs and bacon this morning.”  He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to, that he liked his bacon crispy, that there were already eggs in the fridge, but instead when he opened his mouth he couldn’t help himself.

“Who are you?”  She sighed and wiped her hands on a towel before pulling a black bag across the counter. 

“Isabelle King, Special Agent.”   She pulled a black badge out of the bag and with a practiced flip revealed an ID showing her face, before quickly closing it and turning back to the bacon.  He stood there, staring at her as she casually slid the bacon out of the pan and cracked an egg into the grease.  Finally, he wordlessly crossed to the fridge and pulled out bread and butter and began making four slices of toast. 

Breakfast was silent; he concentrated on his plate, every now and then he felt her eyes on him and looked up, only to see her equally absorbed in her food.  Finally, she met his gaze.

“Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“Ask me about being a Special Agent, ask me what I’m doing here-ask me.”

“Is your sparkplug really shot?”  He laugh was nice, he thought, as it exploded around the kitchen. 

“What?”  He smiled too, it was contagious.

“It’s just…normally the first thing people say is ‘Do you have a gun’ or ‘But you’re a woman’ or ‘Can I know a secret….’ And you’re worried about my sparkplug?  Yes, it’s really and truly a goner.  Believe me I wouldn’t have ended up here if it wasn’t.”  

“So, why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“With the way you were looking at me?  I wanted to sleep on your couch, not keep one eye open all night fending off advances from the drunken stranger I met in a bar.”

“What makes you think…?”
            “Oh please.  A fairly attractive woman from out of town shows up at a bar, you already can’t keep your hands to yourself and then you learn that she’s also a government spy.  You really would have left me alone?”  He snorted and she smiled.  “I’m glad I met you, Tyler Long.  You’re a decent and honest.  You would make a horrible spy.”

“Don’t count me out so quickly, lady.  I can be as cold blooded as the next guy.” 

“Don’t be- it changes a person.” 

She was very pretty, he thought, especially now that her eyes were dancing and he hair had a way of escaping its tight restraints.

The garage was full but as promised Mike made time for the out –of-towner.  She had tried to insist on walking down, but Tyler argued that it was cold and he had to go into town to get milk anyway.  He waited in the hard plastic chairs, watching out of the corner of his eye as she flicked through the Outdoor Life and Motor Trend.  She seemed oddly at home here, and then he remembered the glock she had pulled out of her bag earlier when she was looking for her keys.  She really was something else. 

“Yup, she’s good to go.”  Mike tossed the keys and she caught them, smiling widely.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.  I would have been here for days waiting for the company to send another car.”  Tyler had noticed that in public she didn’t refer to her line of work except through vague terms, but everyone seemed to accept that she must be a high level executive in some large corporation.   Mike smiled back.

“Well, I’m sure Ty here would have taken care of you.  He’s a good guy, you know.”  Tyler cleared his throat,
            “Yup, best be getting home I suppose, you’ll want to pack up before dark so you can hit the road.”  He ignored Mike’s pointed stare as he walked out of the garage and climbed into the truck he had parked across the street. 

She packed quickly and neatly; in the space of fifteen minutes the only trace that there had been another person in the house was a half eaten package of eggs and a bottle of orange juice in the fridge.  Tyler watched her, ignoring the pricking at the back of his throat.  At least for the last forty-eight hours he hadn’t been alone; the prospect of her leaving only made his new solitude seem harsher. 

“You can stay another night if you need.  It’s getting dark out there.”  The words were out of his mouth before he knew that he was thinking them; she flicked the zipper of her bag closed.

“I’m sorry, Tyler.  I have to go save the world and all that-“ she grinned but this time it didn’t meet her eyes. 

“Oh, right.”  They stood there staring at each other for a minute, and then she was walking across the room and her arms were on his shoulders and she was kissing him.  It was a good kiss, he thought later, not too soft and there was a moment right before their lips touched where he was looking right up into her startlingly blue eyes. When they separated, she had a sad little smile on her face.

“You’re a good man, Tyler Long.  I hope you remember that.”  He didn’t ask her to stay again; instead he slung her bag over his shoulder and held the front door for her.   

The car door slammed, and she gave a funny little half wave-nod, and then the dirt crunched under her tires and she was gone.

Inside he found a big black trash-bag and stood in the middle of the living room.  The salmon throw was the first thing into the bag, followed by the decorative pillows and the artistically arranged sticks in their vases.  He didn’t stop until the whole house was purged, and then he stood there panting with five bags of womanly comforts.  He thought briefly of dousing them with kerosene in the front yard, but instead he hauled them into the bed of his truck and covered them with a tarp bound for the goodwill in the morning.

Tonight, the beer tasted sweeter and the house was less empty than it had been in weeks of cohabitation. 

As time goes by

There are these beautiful wonderful moments when I can close my eyes and forget the last four years completely.  It's me and my old music, you know the cd- "Ashley and Meridith."  Love song after love song, and to me they're about someone unattainable who I am content to admire from afar.  And then, right then, I believe it's possible.
In this world I smile and take silly photographs and love to play dress up every day.   I am an actress again, and I'm as worried about my auditions as I am my bills.  I believe in pink and outlandish headbands and that every true love must come with a dog. 
I'm not heartbroken, I'm not broken at all.  I have someone who is depending on me, at least a little bit, to get them through the day and that's such a wonderful feeling.  They make me giggle and smile and blush; I do all of these things without needing to remember how. 
The best moments are when I look up into the most beautiful set of eyes I have ever seen, and hope and dream of a kiss while knowing it will never come.  This is a passion that I can keep for myself, something secret and delicate that can never be ruined or tainted by reality.  Maybe I'm missing out on the love of my life, maybe this one time I should reach for something I want instead of forever settling for what is easy and seems logical.  Maybe, but part of me is Meridith still and I am shy and can't share any of this with the one person matters. 
Happy.  I am happy.
It will take a word, a look, a breath to end this moment of remembered independence.  But each time the moment is a little longer, and this is me-I am still me, even after the pain and the isolation of the last years of my life.  Maybe, by September, November, December, I'll finally have stitched myself back together enough to give part of me away again.  Right now I enjoy my dreams of stolen kisses, and wonderful blue, and hands that are gentle as they brush away the tears. 

Dearest Ash, Meridith loves you still.  A different face, a different smile, the same old heart.

Dancing Pains

I haven't felt as terrible as I do now ever-
I am so scared, and so hurt, and so very, very
alone.

For-never.

There is not a doubt in my mind that he will twist the dagger again.  On our own, he tells me that he wants a different ending, that he's hurting too and that he hates this-but tomorrow night or the next day or the day after that he will find a path to my public humiliation.  He never fails at that, after all.

In the sweet comfort of my own bed I close my eyes and see the alternative.  Beautiful blue eyes, wanting me to be his in oh so many ways.  I could hurt him so terribly; that is the thing I am perhaps most scared about.  He holds me and kisses my neck when I want to cry, tells me that It's ok to be brokenhearted, it's ok- even if the man who did it was a low-down dog.  I smile and kiss back, but how do you say that you want to be squeezed, not kissed; it's not the promise of sex that draws me back but rather the way he looks at me like I've never made a mistake in my life, I remember that look from sometime long long ago.  So, instead of accepting the crown to his kingdom I close my eyes and try to push brown-eyed pain away.

Late late late at night I lose my mind and want to let myself fall into oblivion another blue eyed angel saves me.  It's nice, not having expectations for once- seeing each other's hurt without judgment or blame.  And, he makes me laugh.  Lovely wonderful laughter that I forgot was possible.  If one person can change so dramatically from love to hateful spite, wouldn't it be possible for another to travel the opposite road, at least to friendship?  If my sins are so great that they are unforgivable, then surely I cannot judge another human based on theirs.

And I don't want love, as much as I think I do.  If it exists, I don't think it's for me.  I had my chance at sweet romance and now it's gone and I'm learning to live on my own again.  It shouldn't be too hard, it was only one quick year before he tells me the romance died away.  Nineteen years of solitude, one year of bliss, and two of slow torture.  I am no Scarlett, there will never be an Ashley or a charming Rhett in my life.  If I'm destined to lonely solitude, perhaps it's better to know at twenty-three than to keep on chasing an impossible fairytale. 

Meredith, five years later.

“I love you.” 

It’s freezing and the streetlight out the window is painting the wall with shadows.     Meredith pulls her knees into her chest and whispers to the air, again and again. “I love you.  I love you, I love you, I love you...” Closing her eyes she allows the tears to come, slow and silent.  Through everything this never changes; always at the worst times the knowledge that she can pull the covers over her head and disappear to the world keeps her safe.  Tonight, for the first night in years, she allows herself to remember and mourn the past. 

Thinking back is like watching an old film, the parts that are in Technicolor are fleeting and have been corroded into a blur of images.  The woods, the sweet smell of spring; the little unmarked stone nestled between the twin birch trunks.  Both of them were buried there, for her.  When she had walked away from that stone, she had shed a layer of herself that would live in those woods forever; her sweet smile turned coy and calculating and her innocence was lost in a screech of tires and blood.

Now five years later Meredith was asking herself for the billionth time, what if?  What if she hadn’t told Ash, hadn’t decided to keep it, hadn’t asked Ken to drive that car…would she be in a beautiful house with a little boy?  Would she and Ash still be together, still be in love?  The love ended that night; there are some things a heart can’t recover from.  Through all the years, Meredith clung to one phrase, one last beautiful memory…

“I love you.” She had pretended not to hear as he approached, but Ash had never been very good at being quiet in the woods.  He was a thinker, not a walker.  An arm snaked around he waist and she sighed a little, fitting herself into the familiar nook under his chin.  

“You know, we really should take the stone into town and have it inscribed.”  She shook her head, silently.  The stone was perfect, nameless- this wasn’t a grave, it was a place of mourning.  And what name would she put on it?  Erik?  Ken? 

“Mere…”

“Don’t, Ash.  Just, don’t.”  She pulled away, fingering a stray piece of birch-paper. 

“What’s wrong, Meredith?  You’re not happy.  Did I do something to upset you?  You haven’t spoken to anyone in days, I’m worried, Belle and Annie are worried…”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?”  She let the moments tick by, shredding the bark slowly.  Finally, she turned and looked up into his eyes.

“I love you too, Ash.”

“But?”

“But…well I need to learn how to be whole again.  I’m going to school this fall, I’m going to be in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania and I can’t bring Ken or Erik with me.  I can’t bring you with me.”

“So, what?”  Are we just…” his voice caught in his throat, she let him search for words for a long moment before taking his hands in hers and kissing them, finger by finger. 

“Ashley I will always love you, a love like ours doesn’t burn out, it doesn’t go away.  I’ll be yours, always and forever.  I just need some time right now.  I won’t see anyone else; we just need to stop for a while.”  Ash’s breath rattled, but he stood straight and held Meredith’s gaze, brushing a stray frizz from her eye.  Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and black.  With shaking fingers he flipped it open, and taking Meredith’s face in one hand kissed her deeply.

“I’ve had this in my pocket for months.  It didn’t seem right, after the crash, but I need you to know, I love you and I want you to be mine forever.”  The ring was small, silver with a green stone.  “It’s a promise that someday, I’ll give you the kind of ring you deserve.” 

“Oh Ashley, Ashley… I love you, I do!” Tears choked the end of her words but she let him slip the bit of metal on to her finger and pull her into his chest.  This was home, this was the life that she knew and understood.  She let her breath match his and closed her eyes, murmuring into his chest.  “I love you, so much.  I don’t need a ring, I just need some time.”   He smiled into her hair, “All the same, take the ring.”

“I love you…love you.  Love.  Under the covers, Meredith twists the green ring around and around, feeling the crease it had worn in her finger.  She had promised, when she put it on, that she would only take it off to replace it with another ring someday.  She had said a lot of things, but somehow she couldn’t forget that pledge.  Tomorrow, maybe, she would talk to Clark.  He would have a way of reminding her of all the lovely things in the world; of blue-eyed laughter and sweet passionate kisses.  Tomorrow would indeed be another day with another love, another grey hair discovered and another wrinkle formed.  And now?  Now Meredith had herself, and a green ring, and a few dusty memories.

Things I almost remember

Lovely happy thoughts; sipping on hot coco (admittedly a little too hot, but drink it down quick anyway,) staring at stars and silently naming them, counting them.  Stories about the old woman who lives next door, long walks in the woods, the dogs you would like to have and the gardens I want to plant someday. 
We're singing, and I'm spilling everywhere, and everything is just ok.  I'm not head over heels, not now.  But to have someone look at me that way, like they want to eat me up and enjoy every morsel: that is something I have forgotten that I thrive on it.
Walking into the house, talking about everything while saying nothing at all- how wonderful it is to have no deeper meanings to worry about.  When you take my jacket and tell me I look lovely, it's true.  Later on perhaps you will complain about my hair tickling your nose as we lie in bed; I will threaten to cut it all off until you are begging to take your words back and we are both laughing until our sides ache. 
Large sentiments and heartfelt proclamations be damned, tonight I am happy to make love, not be in it.

The things I don't ask

Where were you.  Two in the morning, and of course no reason for you to be wandering around in the mist and yet... there you were on the front step and I am here in the dark alone.  Before I realize what I'm doing I'm raising my hand in the light of the street lamp in a pathetic half salute.  Glancing up at me, you let your eyes slide over and down until your gaze lands somewhere in the gutter to my left.  Sure.  I know you; you're coming back from a walk, some beautiful raven haired girl is probably skipping herself into her dorm and telling her roommate about the most wonderful first kiss in all the world.
Would have asked, could have asked for the truth and despite the bitter in your voice you would have told me...but no.  Lock it away.  Stuff it behind the memory of our first kiss, so sweet under the street lamp; of those nights in an old jeep with pennies in between the seats- the way you looked me in my eyes uttering my full name and those words, "I love you."
Gone, of course, for the better, so we would have the world believe.

Gone and most nights I can pretend it's not true, I can sit with men who make me laugh and talk to boys who flatter and yet.... when one finally leans in there are only two words left.

"I can't."  So, as far as the kissing and telling there is far less of the first part than the second I suppose. 

And yet, I can't ask you the things that would set me free.  I can't hurt myself in order to find release, so here I am trapped in eternal purgatory. 

Where were you?

Para Siempre

A note, though I hate them and I feel it ruins the feel of this blog- this is not to hurt you.  It is for me.  I need to write to find out what's wrong and to process, please understand.  If you need to talk about it, you know how to find me.

Are my eyes still the prettiest when I've been crying?  Don't know, no one to tell me really.  All the things I wanted to say, wish I could have said.  I just want to be the first choice again, not second and not because I just happen to be here.  With him- we will always know the other person has given their heart away.  To you.  I gave mine to you long ago.  And they say hearts are broken, but mine is simply hostage no matter how I try to break the bars of it's cage of memories.  I do love you, still, I thought that was well established.  I don't want to have you anymore though.  I want to be pretty and adored, I want to be light and fun and keep my dark and twisty to late night short story writing.

More than anything I want to be myself, by myself for a while.  Yes, it's lovely to have someone to talk to but really more than anything I want to talk about life and adventures, not bedroom escapades and innuendo.  It's so exciting to be young and alive.  So exciting to make decisions based on myself, to run away for a weekend without having to tell anyone where I'm going or what I'm doing. 

I am so dark and twisty and maybe it is all my fault.  But maybe some of it is yours too, and until you accept that blame we could never work, and I wouldn't want us to.  I am smiling now, and laughing and giggling and it's beautiful.

Must stop watching Gossip Girl

Now tell me, what does it mean to have all your texts and messages returned the week before break ends?  You're only looking for one thing, my friend, and I'm afraid you're looking for it in the wrong place.  Clearly no one told you, I'm not that kind of girl.

XOXO

Emerald dreams

His shirt smells like him, or so I imagine.  Wrong, so wrong for me to crave this still-my dirty little secret folded neatly on my closet shelf.  Every night I tuck myself into bed, silk pajamas and chocolate; waiting for the inevitable tossing and turning until I pad over to the closet and slip on the worn cotton. 
The way he looked at me, deep into my eyes, searching my soul.  I thought, for a moment, that everything was true and right and that somehow the world would resolve itself around the two of us.  And then, hours later, of course there was a Secret, one last big Lie.  And so, cry yourself to sleep little girl, you're so used to it.
Hours pass, minutes and days and I'm not mad except that I'm supposed to be.  I still lvoe or love, or whatever it's supposed to be called. And now he is good to me, and kind to me, and I am confused but happy and I'm not supposed to let him make me happy anymore. 
And then, god damn it, I pull a plush blue canine out of a box, my own velveteen rabbit.  I stop being confused and angry and hurt; and in the hours too late or too early to count, I let myself love him.