I say I hate that word
Does it scare me?
Does it excite me?
Does it entrance me?
What does it make me feel?
And do I actually hate it?

Or perhaps
I haven't found the right person
To hear it from

Why is reciprocation so difficult
You came up to me
With a homemade batch of chocolates
on February Fourteenth
You came up to me
With 3 words that would haunt me
You came up to me
And you were so nice
And I am so sorry
I couldn't
give
that
back.

I check your profile
I write a text
and backspace

And then
When all hope seems lost
I get that beautiful, long-awaited

dot
dot
dot.

I opened my eyes to a deserted highway. Sand was rearranged on the ground by the soft breeze, which caressed my cheek as it went by. The heat wasn’t too hot to bare, but it was enough to make me take off the jacket I always wore and tie it around my waist.

I hopped up on the tailgate of my rusty black truck and swung my feet back and forth. I cranked up the volume of the old radio and hummed along, leaning back and looking at the light blue sky.

A donkey cried to my right and birds cawed all around me. The donkey quieted down and wandered over next to the truck to simply stand there and observe and I sighed, taking a deep breath.

Birds sat calmly on the wires that trailed along the sides of the highway and a tumbleweed flowed by, taken along with the wind.

I came across a smell I was familiar with: Wet dog.

I sat up and looked at the ground of the highway, coming face-to-face with a panting wolf, who’s hair was matted with a mixture of sweat and blood. I stood up and slowly walked to the back door of my truck, making sure to be careful and not scare the wolf away.
I grabbed a pack of hotdogs that I was planning on saving for myself and brought them back to the wolf, the donkey watching both cautiously and curiously. I opened the pack and threw one into the air, the dog catching it with it’s mouth and chewing with it’s mouth wide open.

I glanced over to the donkey and held my hand out for it to come to. It didn’t, of course, but I wasn’t bothered by that. I enjoyed the company. I went back to the back door of my truck, less careful this time.

I got out a sack of apples that I had previously gotten from a store back in the town where I was from, though that town was nowhere to be seen. I brought the sack of the red fruits back to the donkey and laid them at his feet. “You got a name, buddy?”
He didn’t reply. I don’t know what I expected. “How about Jack? That’s cliche enough, right?” He kicked his feet as he chomped on the apples. It was a funny name for a donkey, and it was good enough, too.

I turned my attention back to the wolf. “How about you? You got a name?” The wolf whimpered and begged for more hotdogs, and I obliged, throwing them in his mouth as I did before. “Kato.”
My husky’s name was Kato, so I figured this would be a good way to honor him, in a way. “Your name is Kato.” Kato ignored me and chowed down on the hotdogs.

And I breathed, and I relaxed, and I felt okay. The song on the radio was that of great joy, and the breeze against my skin was oh so calming. Even the donkey cries didn’t bother me, nor the wolf whimpering, nor the eagles cawing. I paid no mind to the loudness of the scene, only to the calmingness of it.
But, like a snake chasing its own tail, I was bound to end up back to where I started.

We grew up believing that no one would ever fall in love with us.
And so, to this day, I let people in too easily.
I let people do as they wish, make me hurt, make me cry...
All because I want people to be pleased with me.

Which is why on Monday, when the sky was crying,
She felt obligated to invite me to her house
And so, on Monday, I was crying,
Because I felt obligated to sneak off, quiet as a mouse.

I didn’t want to go
But I didn’t say no
Because if I said no,
Where would she go?

To this day, I believe in the moon
Because the moon is all I have
The moon is quiet, the moon is calm,
And, like me, the moon is sad.

I told the moon I hated her once,
In anger and in sadness,
And she understood
That my broken heart is like a cactus

I’ll let people in quickly,
And I’ll cry when they’re gone
I’ll cry when everyone leaves
Like when the moon leaves at dawn

But it happens,
It’s alright,
She’ll be back
Again tonight.

A deck, poorly illuminated by the moon up above, shining down and judging me. “Why are you even sad?” Moon asks me. I don’t respond to her. How could I answer that when I don’t even know myself?
The wood is old and creaky, and when I walked out here to sit on this old deck my steps filled the silent night, but the silence quickly followed when I stopped shuffling around. Like a shadow that was always near, the silence. It follows.
I closed my eyes and listened to the wind and crickets. No music, no laughter, just the sounds of the forest behind my old family home. Owls hooted, crickets sang, cicadas cried, and the moon judged. “What do you want?” I asked her, growing annoyed by her watching eyes.
“I just want to observe,” she whispered. “I am intrigued by human emotion.”
“There is nothing to feel intrigued by,” I explained, “It is only pain and grief.”
Moon just sighed at this. I sighed, too. “Untrue,” she started, “I have seen such fantastic emotion. I have seen love, happiness, tranquility-”
“Well you won’t find any of that here,” I cut her off.
She seemed annoyed at this point, like she was sick of my complaining. She looked down on me, but I’m sure she saw way more from up there than just me. “You are foolish for believing that.” She said finally.
“Believing what? The truth? Nothing of interest is-”
“Perhaps not yet.”
I paused at that. I realized she had a point, but I wasn’t sure if I believed in a future of great happiness. I wasn’t sure I believed that I would ever feel anything besides pain. Perhaps I didn’t believe in happy endings at all, but I couldn’t help but hope that she was right. Just a little bit.

Blue and white balloons were tied lazily to cardboard sign with a scribbled on birthday invitation. Kids are squealing playfully in the backyard, chasing each other around. The sun is giving me a headache, but the water from an earlier competition of throwing water balloons makes the wet fabric of my shirt cling to my back, countering the heat.

It smelled like freshly cut grass, a smell I much adored. It was a near calming smell, one that reminded me of the way the street had smelt after the mornings my neighbor woke up early to trim his lawn.

How I hated that water, the water stuck to my skin. It was cold when the wind brushed over it, but hot when the wind left it alone. Couldn’t I just be warm?

All the rest of the kids were playing outside, playing a game of tag, and I sat alone on the front porch. It wasn’t a pretty view, there wasn’t much to look at other then the houses across the street and blue sky behind them.

Everyone was playing happily… And I was listening to music from my “Sad Hours” playlist. Skipping through the ones that were too upbeat whilst the other children were skipping along the grass, kicking dirt up as they went.

It was my sister’s birthday, and yet I didn’t care.