He broke your heart.
Ripped it into a million pieces
And left me to piece you back together.
But not even I could fix you this time.
A few days later 
I held out the matches 
And watched as you burned 
The fraying edges of your heart.
Aren't you proud, mom?
I saw your lips move 
But was deafened by the screams 
Of your dead lifeless eyes.

Some things can't be forced,
No matter how hard you try;
And some things can't be forced
With no real reason why.

Dumb luck first put us together,
And I tried to keep us apart;
But you pushed me, made luck prevail.
Now I hold my bleeding heart.

I wasn't what you really wanted;
You weren't my cup of tea.
So please shut the door behind you,
Just go and let me be.

"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."

I've been here for a few years now,
leaning back into the wall and waiting for my train.
Six years. I've waited six years
and not realized until just last year
that my train isn't coming.
It never will.

I remember the day we arrived.
Joyful. Hopeful. Eager for an adventure
and ready to leave this God-forsaken town.
June 10, 2007, we arrived: clueless.

The first person passed eight months later,
February 15, 2008.
She has slumped to the ground now. . .
nothing more than a pile of disintegrating bones.
August 12, 2008-- the second person died.
Now he, or what remains of him,
occupies the darkest, shadowed corner.

One by one, my fellow travelers passed
with no warning or sign.
Each body is in a different state of decomposition,
bearing an individual horror story
that will never be heard.
There is no one to hear it.

With each passing dawn,
I prepare myself for death;
as each day breaks,
I'm perpetually surprised that
my eyes open again.
The only thing left to do now is wait --
Wait for my impending death,
Wait to tell the stories of these surrounding skeletons,
And wait for a train that will never arrive.

Here I am--
in the middle of my favorite cafe in old town.
My soft brown curls fall in front of my shoulders
and almost into my lipstick stained mug.

Here I am--
in my new sundress that shows off my hips;
I'm armed with my composition book, favorite pen,
and a genuine smile.

But there you are--
Walking up to the counter with a new Beauty,
holding her the way you used to hold me:
gentle but firm, and keeping her content.

There I go--
escaping through the smudged glass door
before you ever noticed me,
giving you a chance to stumble upon your new Serendipity.

Here I am--
Wrapped up in my blankets
Captured  within my own harrowing darkness.

Here I am--
sinking further into a reclusive state
whispering It's just too much.

I didn't plan for this to happen,
But Life pays no mind to my plans.

I remember the day I looked Life
In the face and said
Today will be beautiful.
A coy smile came about her
And she slowly shook her head.
Anything you say, dear;
But I have other plans instead.

That was the day my sister
Got into the car
Where she took her last breath.

But a few years have passed now,
And Life gained compassion with her age.

I sternly told Life
I will not fall in love with him
Again she smiled, but made no sound
As she silently clasped her wrinkled, feminine hands.

Look at me now.
I didn't mean for this to happen
But he's always on my mind.

Look in the mirror
And open your eyes to the
Beauty you possess.

Tell me,
Do you still look for me
Coming off the metro
Like we always used to do?
Do you wait for me
To text you first
Or say "I love you too"?
Do you still hold your breath
At 9 o'clock remembering my promise
To call before you turned blue?

Well, my darling, I do too.

If I become blind tomorrow,
I'll know every detail of your face--
Your tired eyes, dimples,
And your imperfectly perfect smile.
I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing
Affectionate glances my way.
But, just as before,
I won't need my eyes to find
Your slightly pink lips
Awaiting mine.

Even after all this time,
I remember the look on his face. . .
That sheer desperation and pleading in his eyes.
That was the first time I really felt he cared about me,
His youngest daughter...
But it was too late.
You and me, Jule; you and me.
We can stay here and do all the things
You've always wanted
(He looked at the ground)
and I never made time for.
You and me, Jule.

But the car was packed;
I was going with Mom,
Whether I wanted to or not.
after several fleeting moments
I pulled myself away
Leaving my forlorn father
In the muggy, humid basement.
After all this time, I remember his face
And the smell of that God-forsaken basement.
But I want to forget.

Time is the falling of leaves on a cool autumn day;
colored leaves that taste of cotton candy
and melt in your mouth.
Time looks like my grandfather's snowy, white beard,
and feels like his crisp dress shirts.
It sounds like a cough in the middle of the night,
and tastes of the NyQuil used to soothe it.
His distinctly "old man cologne" wafts through Time
and to the front of my mind.
But Death is cold. . .
Even colder than Time.
Maybe Time is not the falling of leaves,
but the emptying of an old service revolver.

She walks beneath the moonlight,
Dodging the street lights
And lurking beyond each corner.
She yearns for just one star
To descend and kiss her face;
For every single birthday wish
Since she was a little girl
Was that . . .

Though she never quite believed it.

My lips
Quiver in your
Presence of true beauty.
Funny how Nature wields her wrinkled
Old hands.

I'll have to forget me to know where I've gone,
And take myself back to find my way home.
You will let me go, or I'll never return.
I'll have to forget me to know where I've gone.