The memories are
strong, and my heart is so weak.
Say you love me, please?
The memories are
strong, and my heart is so weak.
Say you love me, please?
It’s five in the morning and I’m standing in front of my bathroom sink, staring at it. It’s mocking me. Each bristle on that stupid plastic wand is mocking me. Why didnt he take it with him when he left me?
In response to the Daily Prompt 8/1
I have a need to write. At any given moment, there are hundreds of words bouncing around my brain. Dozens of stories clamor to the front, begging to be told. So whenever I have a spare moment, or when my work gets too boring, I pull out a blank sheet of paper, pick a non-black pen, and write.
Sometimes what comes out weighs a ton. It’s as if I’ve been hoarding every emotion I’ve ever felt. The words tumble out of my pen, nothing strong enough to slow them down.
Sometimes what comes out is light and airy. The words flutter like butterflies, painting pictures as beautiful as their wings. The ideas seem simple at first, but upon closer examination, the intricacies reveal themselves. If you know me well and you read one of these, you’ll be able to understand what it is I’m really saying.
Occasionally I’ll write a poem, and other times it’s a straightforward life update. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to be writing. I love that feeling I get when I craft a particularly good sentence. I live for turning my feelings into black and white pictures. I get a jolt of pleasure whenever I start a new journal. Writing is my favorite thing to do–I want to get better at it.
And so, for these reasons and countless more, I’ve decided I’m going to write a book. It might be a memoir (I just registered for a memoir writing class), maybe a collection of essays, or short stories. Whatever it turns out to be, I know I’ll love creating it. Writing is the only thing for which my love has never wavered.
I’m excited to fall even more in love with it. Wish me luck!
P.S. This is a fitting 100th post, wouldn’t ya say? 😀
Words have been pushing
against the inside of my lips,
dying to dive from the depths
of my soul.
I can’t say them out loud,
so instead I let them flow
from my fingertips.
“I swear I just saw it!” I exclaim. “Okay, look to your left and slowly turn your face to the right.”
He sighs, but does as he’s told. There’s a birthmark on his ear, right where an earring would be if his ears were pierced. I play with that lobe more than the other when we’re lounging in bed. His cheeks are speckled with stubble, but through it I see his skin: the color of my café con leche when I don’t put enough milk. His eyebrow is annoyingly tame and unbushy. People born with perfect eyebrows don’t know how good they’ve got it. He’s closed his eyes, but his eyelashes still look long and beautiful. The bridge of his nose is wide, and would make the perfect mount for glasses should his 20/20 vision change. His lips look full and soft, and for a second I forget what I’m doing, and lean in to kiss them.
He kisses me back, so lovingly, so tenderly, but then breaks away with a another sigh.
“Babe.” He grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “Did you find the glitter?”
I give him an apologetic smile and sink into a shrug. “I’m sorry, I got distracted!”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Wait, I just saw it again!”
She sat across from him, studying his face with mild curiosity. He was beginning to get uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything.
His eyes were a deep brown, the irises almost blending in with the pupils. His eyelashes were long and curled, the kind girls attempted to mimic with falsies.
He opened his mouth to say something.
“Ah-” she warned him with a slight shake of her head. She wasn’t done looking at him, not ready to talk about the thing.
His mouth conveyed his anxiety. He was softly chewing on the right side of his full bottom lip. His forehead and nose were shining with sweat.
“Okay,” she said, “go ahead.”
“I don’t think we should be together anymore,” he blurted.
She was quiet, looking into his eyes. They looked desperate. Her’s shined with tears waiting to fall, but she didn’t blink.
“You’re right,” she said simply. This was the thing. This was what she’d been feeling for the past two weeks. The thing she’d been avoiding. That was it.
Via Daily Prompt
I am awoken by screams. Not horror movie, helpless girl piercing the silent night with her voice kind of screams (6’2″ 175lb Hector is hardly Sydney Prescott), but screams nonetheless.
“What?! What?!” I ask, freaking out about his freak out.
He’s not lying next to me anymore, but is instead standing in the opposite corner of the room, terrified.
“You were floating!” he whisper-yells.
“Oh shut up, I was not,” I say dismissively.
“Babe you were floating–”
“YOUR ENTIRE BODY WAS SUSPENDED IN THE AIR! WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT, ASH?!”
I’m quiet. I thought he was messing around, but he’s never yelled at me like that before. My eyes well up.
His face falls. “Baby, I’m sorry, I don’t…” He looks like he wants to come comfort me, but he’s scared I might go full exorcist on him.
“Will you please just come back to bed?” I ask, scared. He’s reluctant, but after a few seconds he climbs in next to me. I burrow my head into his chest and he wraps me in his arms.
“Just let gravity do it’s thing, babe, okay? No more defiance.”
We lay down to cuddle. I feel safe in his arms, and after a minute or two of racing thoughts, I calm down. Hopefully anymore floating I do will be only in my dreams.
“Ya know that feeling you get when you know–you KNOW– that you shouldn’t do something? That voice in your head that always seems to sound like your mother no matter how old you get? That feeling and that voice, they gang up on you to make sure you don’t order another shot, you don’t smile at that guy looking for trouble, you don’t do anything stupid, right? Well, I have a surprisingly strong talent for ignoring that feeling and that voice.”
He stops kissing my neck long enough to say “Thank God for that.”
He was temptation, I was tempted.
“Why not?” he whined.
“Come on,” I sighed, ” you know why not.”
“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” I stared at him.
“And why can’t we do that here?”
“It’s just more private there!” He was frustrated now, a scowl on his face. “Fine!” he said, his voice raised.
“What do you want me to do?” I pleaded. He just shook his head, suddenly calm.
“Nothing, never mind,” he said simply. I got up from the couch an went upstairs. Janie’s room was open and empty, so I went in and sat on the bed.
What are you doing? I asked myself for the second time that night. You know you want to. Just do it, no one will ever know–his girlfriend sure won’t. Besides, he obviously likes you more than her, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this.
I took out my phone and sent him a message, “Come upstairs.” I waited three minutes with no response. I checked downstairs and he was sitting on the couch, still cradling his beer. I went and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned I told him to check his phone. He said he hadn’t gotten anything, so I whispered for him to meet me upstairs in five minutes. He said he had to go soon because his brother was waiting for him. Taken aback, I told him it was fine, just go. He didn’t move and I went back upstairs.
Sitting on the bed I was really nervous. Then a thought occurred to me. This isn’t my room. Silly, I know since it was so obvious, but I had forgotten. Technically, it wasn’t Janie’s either, she was just staying there. I went out to find the owner and ask to use it. She said, “Sure!” and showed me how to lock the door. She pulled out a futon for me so we didn’t have to use her bed. I wasn’t planning on going that far regardless. She left.
*Knock knock knock*
I got up to open the door, and there he was. I let him in and the shut the door behind him. I sat on the futon.
“So what’s up?” he asked
“What’s up?” He looked at me expectantly, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?” I was the exasperated one now.
“I don’t know, I thought maybe you wanted to talk?”
“You think I brought you to a room upstairs at a party to talk,” I repeated in a monotone.
“No,” he shook his head slightly, finally realizing what I wanted. He sat on the futon and I straddled him. I leaned in to kiss him and closed my eyes. I felt him grow harder as I bit his bottom lip before sticking my tongue in his mouth.
This kiss felt different, wrong. His mouth was too wet, we were sloppy. He stopped me. “How far is this going?” He was searching my eyes in my silence.
I slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Once it was off I got anxious. He spanked me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I pulled away from him.
“What, you don’t like that anymore?”
“I never really did, to be honest.” He looked confused.
“Okay… well, what do you like?” he asked.
“Pull my hair,” I said simply. He grabbed a hand full of my curls and yanked my head back. My heart sped up and I kissed him again, more aggressively this time. He unbuttoned my shorts and I took off his shirt.
His body was just as I remembered it, and the familiarity of it pushed the guilt out of mind. “Do you have a condom?”
The party was happening all around us, but we sat quietly on the couch. I watched as one guy tried to teach my friend Sweetie, a small Asian girl, how to dance bachata. She would have been awkward normally, but with the alcohol in her system she was determined to learn and followed him closely.
“Want a cupcake?” he asked me. I looked to my left and there he was: dark curly hair, perfect lips, brown eyes, and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. He held his Corona with both hands.
“Sure,” I replied. We jumped over the back of Janie’s couch and took three steps into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the vanilla frosted chocolate cupcakes Janie, Sweetie, and I had made for Harold’s birthday. We just stood there for a second, people walking back and forth between us. He let me take the first bite.
With the cupcake half finished we went back to the couch. I sat to his right and looked at my lap. What are you doing? I asked myself. He still has a girlfriend!
You’re not doing anything! I argued back. It’s just a cupcake!
“Here”, he said, snapping me out of my internal argument. He held his hand out, a bit of frosting on his extended index finger. I looked at him blankly. “Here,” he repeated, bringing his finger closer to me. I looked at him and covered the tip with my mouth, careful not to use my tongue, like that mattered. I looked away and swallowed, cursing myself for going along with his obvious flirting.
“Here,” I heard again. Without a second thought I wrapped my lips around his finger again. Dammit, Severn!
“You’re not going to give me any?” he asked, not meeting my eyes. I carefully scooped a bit of frosting with my index finger and offered it to him. I held my breath as he grabbed my hand and put his mouth on my finger. His eyes focused on my arm, but my eyes were glued to his. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue soft. He extracted my finger slowly, sucking slightly until the frosting was gone. My heart hammered in my chest and I was tingling between my legs when I finally exhaled.
“Last one,” he said, his frosting covered finger three inches from his face. I leaned in closer to lick it off, and as soon as I finished he kissed me. It was a slow, soft kiss, the kind that started at my lips but spread warmth through my entire body. When he stopped my face was hot. He came in for another, but I turned my head.
“No,” I said.
“Come on, let’s go to my car,” he murmured into my neck.
“No!” I repeated, shoving him off, angry at such an offensive suggestion.
TO BE CONTINUED