Life was good
The sun was setting with a sweet cold breeze of Autumn’s day
The smell of withering lawns across the neighborhood
The sound of children rocking back and forth on swings
A beautiful girl and a loyal friend
Life was good
The leaves die through the weeks
The year passes as each leaf falls
And so does a memory
That once was in my head
I thought I had a beautiful girl
I thought I had a loyal friend
All I had was a razor
Sticky with my own blood
Keeping me company
Until this year ends
A funny date
getting messages that say
It's a happy day
a wonderful date
only when seen the English way
but the wonder is gone
when it's arranged American
"Hey loverboy," she says. I don't respond.
A rough draft excerpt from my story, Fictional Truth.
“Hey Loverboy,” she says. I don’t respond. I enjoy ignoring her for a moment after I come out of a day dream.
“Hey. Blake. Snap out of it boy. Time to come back to earth,” she says with her usual tone of pleased annoyance. This time I leave the world inside my head and return to reality. Slowly turning my head to the right, I can see those deep green eyes gazing up. I never get tired of her eyes.
“Come on, you said you’d help me here.”
“Sorry,” I say with a half grin and my best attempt at contrition. I look down to the papers in her lap. Right, math. I was helping her with calculus. She was really very good at math. We were in the same class, but she was two years younger than me after skipping two grades in elementary school.
“This one you just take the derivative of your function and plug in these two values.” I can remember these things effortlessly now, which was a huge accomplishment for someone who doesn’t particularly like math.
“See, this is why I keep you around,” she says, those rosy lips that I so adored pulled into a little smirk. She reaches up and kisses me. She always seems to find an excuse to kiss me. “You can go back to daydreaming now.” Indeed I do, retreating back to the dreamscape inside my head. This time I think back to when I met Clara.
I had just arrived on campus, a bright eyed college freshman. There I was, lost in a sea of more beautiful women than I had ever seen in my life. Small private schools had never been kind to me in that regard. Everything on campus was a wonder. Nobody from my high school had come here and I was very much alone, but I didn’t mind. I had outgrown most of my high school friends long ago. It was long past time for me to expand my horizons.
I found myself standing in front of a massive glass building. I wasn’t past checking my reflection in the glass windows. Had to make sure my hair still looked as good as it did when I arrived. Who knew when I might run into some attractive young lady? Opening the doors I caught a waft of the bookstore smell, unlike anything I expected. At home the bookstores were small, with dusty leather covers that begged to be handled and old people that smelled like coffee. This was completely different. The odor of panicked freshman and newly bound textbooks permeated the air. I decided right then I wouldn’t be spending much time there.
There was a long line extending towards the back of the building. Not knowing better, I assumed it was the line I was supposed to be in and slowly made my way to the rear. This would take forever. I pulled out my phone and started on another game of Angry Birds. I had been killing evil pigs for almost five minutes when I began to feel like I was being watched. Sure enough I glanced up to see a large pair of deep green eyes looking at me.
“You know, some psychologists say that technology is making us less social,” said the girl looking up at me. I couldn’t respond. She had straight black hair pulled behind her in a long ponytail. She had a small, perfectly formed nose with what seemed like a sea of freckles on it. Even more freckles danced on her cheeks. She was several inches shorter than me, maybe 5’9” and had on tight jean shorts and a black tank top that exposed only the most tantalizing amount of cleavage.
“So I’m just starting to feel a little uncomfortable with you undressing me with your eyes like that,” she said with the smirk on her face that I would soon come to know.
“Sorry,” I said, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of my mouth, “You surprised me a bit.”
“I’m Clara. This is the point in conversation where you tell me your name.” I liked her already. She had confidence and wit that was both abrasive and attractive.
“I’m Blake, pleased to meet you.” Damn I was smooth. Almost as smooth as a wagon over rocks. “Are you a freshman too?”
“Yep. Just got here. I don’t think this line is moving.” I really liked the way little dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth even when she frowned slightly.
“It really doesn’t seem to be. At least I have pleasant company,” I said. Oh man I was so smooth! I was really proud of myself right there. It was hard flirting with such a beautiful girl. She seemed to throw me off balance.
“Well, that was the least offensive flirting I've heard all day,” she replied. Good gosh this girl was straightforward. “It’s a good thing you’re cute or I might not have accepted that.” Cute. Okay, I could work with cute. “So you’re in psychology 1000?” she asked.
“Nope, I took that during high school.” I replied. Why would she ask that?
“Well, you’re standing in the psychology book pickup line.” She said with a slightly puzzled look on her face. I definitely was not in psychology.
“Oh, Psychology! I, uh, I thought you said, uh, philanthropy. Nope, I’m definitely in the right line. Okay, that was a lie and I was at least 100% sure philanthropy was not a class. But hey, I was under pressure and I needed an excuse to keep talking to this girl. She looked at me like I was slightly on drugs but moved on without hesitation.
We talked about various meaningless things while the line crept closer to the back of the store. I was constantly mesmerized by the deep green in her eyes. I had always been attracted to green eyes but they were pretty rare to see. When we got to the pickup window, she paid for her book and stepped to the side, watching me. I decided to bow out of buying a several hundred dollar book just so I didn't look like a complete idiot. I comforted myself with the fact that she might think it was funny.
“Soooo. I’m not really in philanthropy. Or psychology. I just didn't want to stop talking to you just yet.” I said with a sheepish grin. Luckily for me, she laughed right there.
“Alright then Mr. Blake, what books do you really need? Maybe we can go stand in line again.” I listed off several books that I needed for classes.
“Calculus. I need that one as well. Come on silly.” She turned her back and started walking. I followed right on her heels, a goofy grin plastered all over my face.
That was my first interaction with Clara. We spent the next two hours gathering all of our books, and at the end I carried her rather large pile back to her dorm room. I was promptly rewarded with her phone number and some cookies that her mom had packed. Normally I’m very pleased by cookies, but the phone number was worth so much more.
“Hey. What about this one?” Clara’s voice comes from beside me. I lean over to look at the paper again.
“This time just take the antiderivative of cosine and solve for x.”
“Oh right. That's the last one.”
“What do you want to do now?” I ask.
“How about we go to your room and see if we can make your roommate uncomfortable enough to leave?” She says with a mischievous grin, bringing those deep green eyes nearer to mine. She always seems to find an excuse to kiss me.
What will become will become of this day and I wake up to find this day's been taken away by the thieves of the night,is this right,
does the night carry on even though it has gone,does the day have no say in its dawning?
It is morning in my head ergo,I am not dead or maybe I could be.
If the night doesn't see me does the day really free me,do I carry the can for the sins of mankind?
I find in illusion a great deal of confusion,a smelting of fantasy,a melting of freedom.
This hit and miss in me really disheartens me and although I keep trying there's something inside me that tells me I'm dying,it's a shame.
There is no fortune or fame for the runners up in a game just the harsh feel of failure,but if the day should return and I am still awake,there's a chance of a part,a starring role in the affairs of my own beating heart,
is it here
do you know
did the day really come and the night really go?
In cahoots with the Pole Star, I map out a route that will make me fortune,the moon makes me a beggar man and the beggars just scowl,
I'll be free soon not out of tune with my peers,not retreating from the advancing of legions of years.
It's all relative or so they say,
and what will become will become of this day.
there's a body within the light of the moon
a woman with her hair like heavy rain on sand dunes
she climbs into my bed and hums a tune
of every song I've always listened to
to carry me on through what ever I'm going through
every night, she returns with blindness
over everything somber and desolate
she holds a candle at the memories I have
and I can see the truth and feel the intellect
I learn to live in the moment
and find the love in anyone who holds it
she comes whenever I ask
and one day I will follow her back
I sleep sound and amused
I'm withered but not abused
she always seems to save the day
by returning in the night to take me away
One day you look in the mirror
And you give yourself a thumbs up and say,
"I'm a champion"
And the next day
Looking back at the mirror
You think to yourself that what you see is repulsive
And that what you see is so disappointing
And you're not satisfied
And you start thinking,
"Is this really how people see me?"
Not good enough and never good enough
And you give up
And you stop trying to be that champion you saw yourself as before
When you're a child
You aim for the sky
You cast your nets far and wide
And aim your arrows high
Until the day that you realize that eventually everything falls
Eventually, the arrow will come back
And you don't have the freedom you thought you had
When you were young
And now you're stuck
Constantly looking into that same mirror
Thinking about all the time and money and resources that you don't have to do what you want
Or even the motivation to do what you want
Because now you know
That's not how the world works
I am constantly worried
About what tomorrow will be like
I'm scared of what will be
Or what won't be
What if I see you again
What if you come back
Or what if you dont
Or what if maybe
I never see you again
The phrase, "What if..." races through my mind every single day
And I never know what's going to happen
And it scares the ever living hell out of me
follow the night through to day
wait in the usual way
wanting to say something wonderful to you
while lying in wait for the words
I smile as you're breathing your last
while tears brimming up in my eyes
I wanted to say something wonderful
sweetly, just something that gives you
much you're terribly
miss you already
covered by kisses
and hugged and
remembering so many things
but just mostly
just wonderfully loved.
Waiting on wonderful words...
you were never one for pet names
you hated when I called you my love
you hated being called anything but your name
but for some reason, you never called me mine
you would only sigh it into my hair
or leave it lingering on my lips
I was always your dear
and now looking back on all the messages and notes
you always called me dear
goodnight, my dear
have a good day dear
I love you dear
did you know I hate being called anything but my name now?
I even hate that
it sounds wrong coming out of other people's mouths
when I should still be hearing it from yours
Life going up flights of stairs too many missed steps,
too many cares,
Life going down the same repetitive staircase, when
you get to
the top or bottom,
you in the face?
Go ahead tell it to the mountain of concrete,
Go ahead break out the map and compass,
don't get pompous,
find a way through the concrete jungle,
hey you might find the treasure or bungle,
you did it, better than expected, sing a duet with Frank, while the rest
tank the results,
touching the frigid corpse
of a loved one,
time to say good-bye
of more shame,
WHY can't the stairway to heaven be found
all there is to walk on, is down and down,
wanting to climb out of the basement for a change,
wanting to climb onto a roof top and sing a refrain,
needing to sing a Hallelujah, from the gut
still it never gets beyond but...
dancing is out,
singing is a bust,
leave enough ink to write with
words covered in rust,
that flakes and falls
like snow gone old,
so no story gets told.
Another day on the gravy train, the office is closed for Another Day,
in a bad way, so,
"So won't you stay, a little bit longer"
she turns to walk away,
"please please say that you will"
the shape and shadow grows smaller
as the pit in my stomach grows more hollow,
That moment, lasted only a moment,
now emptied out.