I was empty and you filled me, and I thought it was good like flowers growing in the cracks, but I was wrong; you were a tree that took root in the middle of my sidewalk and broke the cement apart and left me crumbling

I found sitting myself in a really dark place--like a dimly lit room. An overhead light flickered on and off, and in the short seconds of light, I caught a glimpse of myself, my reflection. I didn't like what I saw, what was staring back at me. A face pale like a white crayon, like I had never had the rays of the sun dance upon the edges of my skin, eyes so worn, so tired, so...defeated. I crawled my way to the nearest wall. My fingers grazed the freezing cold tile as I climbed my way to a standing position. I stood leaning against the cold, mostly to stabilize myself, but also because the tile felt so smooth against my arms.

How did I get here in this room? I can't seem to remember, it all hit me so fast. The light flickered on and off and I stood leaning against the smooth tile and thinking about where I was. This room was so small and dark. I let my fingers drag along the tile as I slowly walked around the room. At last the smooth, cold wall turned to even more cold metal as I found myself holding into a handle. Suddenly the light flickered once more and through the door I went, and then I was falling and falling.  After that, everything went black.

When I awoke, I once again found myself in the fetal position on the ground. This time I was warm. I felt something tickle my foot and it jolted me awake. I open my eyes to discover that I am lying in a field filled with pink and white flowers that I could never identify. They were lovely and they seemed to embrace the cool breeze moving through their petals. I stand here amidst all this beauty and I feel okay for the first time. I am calm. I am happy.

Suddenly, though, the sky seemed to flicker just like that temperamental light in that cold tile room. I think to myself that it's just my mind, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But then a loud, thunderous noise bellows throughout the field, sending a ****** of large, black crows into my direction. The beautiful, blue sky instantly filled itself with clouds like dark, black smoke in a small confined space. A strong wind forces it's way against the flowers and as each flower is touched, it wilts, turning the most awful shade of gray I had ever seen. The entire field went dead and I stand in the center trying to take in what happened. Everything was fine just a minute ago. The sky flickers and again my vision turns black and I wake up and I am back in that cold, the room, laying on my side. The door is there, within my view, and I lay there, staring.

The clouds moved in suddenly, strangely, and they sat there, suspended by strings. Oh how I wanted to climb a ladder up high and sit myself upon one of them and forget everything that ever happened. Maybe, just maybe, my body could be taken in by the clouds and I could sink deep down into the sky where no one would ever think to look for me. I would make friends with the stars that come out at night because I know they're already dead, they won't bother me. I'd use the crescent moon as my bed and I would sleep away the rest of my years quietly and contently. I would be at peace, as a child of the sky, and I would never again set foot on ground.

I was lonely
without my loneliness,
and that made
every bit
of sense
to me.

It had been a whole 16 hours,
Since their 2am fight.
She stood in the parking garage,
resting herself against the edge.
From behind her, the noise escalated:
heel to pavement, heel to pavement.
It grew louder and louder,
coming toward her,
but she didn’t turn to face it.
She stared straight,
and fixated her eyes on something, anything.
A blue light, off in the distance.
She kept staring and dared not to look;
she didn’t want to ruin the moment
of him reaching his arms around her waist
and resting his chin
in the empty space around her shoulders.
So she stared at the blue light,
And the footsteps grew closer
and closer,
and her body readied itself,
but they suddenly passed her up,
and she realized,
it wasn’t like all the other times.
He wasn’t coming this time.
and even though the space around her shoulders stayed empty,
the air suddenly became very heavy.

The sunlight gleamed through the window, shining on the dust particles. They seemed to float through the air as if they were tiny little dancers . I heard my mother sigh, and as I turned, she pulled a giant trunk from the corner of the attic. “This belonged to your great-great-grandmother,” she told me. “You probably don’t remember much about her.” I walked through the dust, breathing in everything that was bad for me, but I was smiling. I knew they were dancing in my lungs. She was right, I didn’t remember her at all; I was only a few months old when she passed. “Can we open it?” I had already begun pulling at the latches. The trunk swung open, and more of those tiny dancers joined their friends. Inside, there were mostly old clothes and a few trinkets. I pulled out a scarf. It was the same color a young child has on her cheeks when her schoolgirl crush pulls at her hair. Something deep inside of me yearned to examine every inch of it. As I carefully unwrapped it, a small book fell out. I reached down to pick it up. I thumbed the pages, and flipped to a random page. I held my breathe as my eyes clung onto every word.  

June 16th, 1856:
His eyes were so blue. So, so blue,
as blue as the ocean he dreamt of crossing.
The ocean that would separate us if he ever got his way.
He told me he loved me, but there was so much more out there
than this small Louisiana town.
There were mountains and oceans,
and so many new places being discovered,
and he couldn’t bare the thought
of never touching snow.
There was opportunity,
and a chance for him to become someone.
There was a ship leaving tomorrow,
he said softly; He knew those words broke me.
He told me he wanted to see the world,
and he wondered why I didn’t want the same.
I told him it was simple,
I was already looking at it.



I flipped to the next page, but it was blank.

Footprints melted into the snow disappear as a new, pure white blanket falls to rest on top. Steam rises from my coffee cup and dissipates into the cold air. I step outside and sigh heavily. It is quiet but I know I am not alone. I hear you in the wind. I feel you as the bitter cold embraces my body. Tiny hairs stand up on my neck underneath my newly short hair. I cut it all off after you left.

I walk four blocks from the coffee shop. I’m not sure where my feet are taking me. I pick a small, fragile flower that is somehow holding on to life in this chilly weather. God knows it’s doing a better job than I am. I turn the corner and suddenly I know exactly where I am. I walk on further and my trembling legs give out. I kneel down and lightly graze the cold, marble stone. It is freezing, but the slightest touch burns me to the core. I read your name about a dozen times. I remember the flower I subconsciously picked. I want to lay it by your stone but my hands wont let go. I think I’ll keep it. I stuff it back into my bag trying my best to preserve its pristine state. Tears freeze on my eyelashes and cling for dear life, causing me to blink rapidly. I look down until I can’t anymore. It's all too much to handle. The wind blows and I follow its path with my eyes. I watch it shudder through the dead branches on the trees. My gaze follows until it is gone... Until you are gone...

I miss you.

Anticipation drips down my body. It follows the curve of my back and dribbles down my spine. I stare out the window but i’m not really looking at anything. I breathe slowly, timing each breath with the hum of the radiator. I don’t know what I am waiting for; I know you’ll never come back. Yet still my heart aches to hear the doorknob jiggle. It never does. I sit, loathing in a sea of disappointment. I regain focus and stare out the window again. I suppose that I'm looking for any signs of you: your car, the mailman, maybe even the slightest chance that I could find your footprints in the snow and follow them to where you are. Look, now I’ve gone crazy. Except, I already am crazy. I even have a doctor to prove that. But when you are near, I don’t feel so bad. When you are here, I want to be better.

I don’t know where you are but you’ve been gone for days. I stand up and pace the apartment. My eyes scan the room for signs of you. Your existence is minimal. Who knows if you even existed? I’ve been known to make things up in my mind. Is that why you left? You promised me that you would always be here. Did it get too hard for you to stay? I tried my best to make it easier. Maybe if I try harder, you’d come back…

I walk to the counter and reach for the tiny, translucent bottle. One pill. Not good enough. Two pills. Maybe. Three pills. I don’t feel anything. Two more just to be sure. Soon enough the whole bottle is gone and I lay on the floor. I cannot feel my own body. The world is spinning. You are still not here. I shut my eyes.

I danced with Death,

he took me by the hand.

He lead me to the ballroom floor

where we both would stand.



Our bodies swayed

in perfect harmony,

but I knew in my heart

this was not right for me.



Watching us dance from the crowd,

a man so full of joy,

but you would never know by his hardened face,

that Life lived in this boy.



The figure with whom I danced

had cold hands which touched me so,

and when I caught a glimpse of Life himself,

I knew I had to go.



I bid adieu to my partner Death,

who I considered now a friend,

and as I walked away with Life,

I knew we would meet again.

I tie the ribbon foolishly,
and I feel the warmth of my mother behind me
as she grabs my shaking hands.
“Calm yourself, Stella,
I know these times are troubling.”
Her hands guide mine,
up and over,
once around and then through the loop.
We’ve made a perfect bow.
“It looks beautiful,”
I struggle to say.
And it does. The bright purple fabric
contrasts with the deep chestnut
brown of the casket,
and matches the purple flowers
hanging from the sky.
“He would love it,”
I try to comfort my mother.
I know she’s holding it all in,
but sooner or later,
she wont anymore.
As much as I forget it,
my mother is actually human.
We stand there for a minute,
and I take a deep breath
as my eyes scan the room,
with sniffling noses
and rainy cheeks.
I take a deep breath
and breathe in
the delicious fragility of this travesty.
We are all so fragile now.
The canopy overhead blocks the intense sun.
Mother is upset because it’s not suppose to be sunny
on the day of your husband’s funeral,
it’s suppose to rain.
“They say it’s good luck,” she mumbles,
looking up at the cloudless sky,
and I rest my hand on her shoulder,
because really, what else can I do?
I lead her over to a chair, because making her sit down
felt like the right thing to do. I’m actually not very sure
what the right thing to do is anymore.
When someone is taken from us,
they leave with a suitcase
packed with smiles and happiness,
and memories of places
where we still laugh and wish.
He left with all of that, my father,
and one day I suppose we’ll all follow after him.

You’re like that cup of coffee,
At six in the morning,
Before a long day begins.
You keep me going,
For a few hours,
And then at night,
I crash.

They painted the earth shades of red:
The color of apples, shining proudly as they grow.
The deep color of wine, swirling in a crystal glass, staining the lips of a young woman.
The color of blood, dripping from the bodies of a hundred men, their bodies laying out in a field, their souls.. Who knows?

But the Earth was now different shades of red, and all of these lives were lost. Mothers lose their titles, a little girl whose father will never tuck her in at night, and a soul mate lost to those who waited and waited for his or her love to come home.

All these lives lost. It seems so terrible. But where there is loss, there is gain.

A nation free. A mother who can beam with pride, for her son was a hero. A little girl who will grow up and tuck her own daughter in one day, and for those who lost their lovers? They are free because of the sacrifices made. They are alive because of love. They can live to tell everyone that these soldiers painted the earth red, the color of their hearts.

She ended up further from the house than she originally planned, but it didn’t bother her.

She need some space.

The walls were too thick. She felt them everywhere she went, those walls. Even out in this field, they surrounded her on each side and stole the air from her lungs.

Did walls have to breathe?

She was used to that feeling. Short of breath, short of life. The problem was, this is the kind of life she had wanted. A marriage to a handsome, wealthy man. He could take care of her, he could provide to her anything and everything. It was everything she had hoped for. That’s what she kept telling herself.

But it wasn’t, and she knew it. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it. But she didn’t dare say. She didn’t dare give even the slightest hint of unhappiness. After all, her parents hand-picked him for her. It was a tough decision, they said, since she had so many suitors. But he was the wealthiest, the most promising.

They promised. And he was.

She would never forget his face, his eyes, and certainly not the way his hands felt,

as one grabbed her shoulder and the other one made contact with her face.

No dancing, he said. He wouldn’t allow it. It didn’t make sense, she thought, for her to sit concealed behind these four walls. All day, she sat, waiting for him to return. She knew not of what he did, not of how he made his money. But it was there, so she remained quiet, what choice did she have really? Submit and be quiet, or feel his hands. And she did not like the feel of his hands.

So today she decided to walk. He told her no, of course, when she asked. It wasn’t acceptable for a lady to walk. What are you going to do? You certainly cannot leave me. You are my property, you know this.

Of course not, she said. These walls, they steal my air.

Ha! He was mocking her. He raises his hand, reaching for her. They won’t be the only things…

She promised him she would stay inside, but after he left, she slipped away. Five minutes of fresh air, she thought, that’s all she needed.

So she walked. She was farther from the house than she had planned, but it didn’t bother her. She needed some space.

But then, the sky grew gray. And she knew, she just knew, that the universe was speaking to her. Get back inside, it said. Hurry, he’s coming back. Go! Now!

She turned and picked up speed. A giant pillow of wind rushed at her. Her body and the wind, like two lovers, dancing. It felt good. No, it felt wonderful. The wind was what she needed.

She stood suspended in that moment, and the wind breathed the air into her lungs that he would later take away.

I returned home to the kitchen the way it was left,
with everything laid out on the counter top.
It was such a mess,
of course it was;
we dropped everything as we rushed out the door.
A cutting board,
with apple slices now browned by their exposure to the air,
bananas now withering into nothingness,
and a knife,
dripping with the blood-red juice of a pomegranate.
Or was it her blood on the floor?
I breathed in the scent of the two day old pomegranate;
it was still sweet,
and it ****** me off.

I used to love my Sunday mornings.
Waking up,
getting out of bed
kissing her.
She was perfect,
and made even the simplest task,
such as cutting a pomegranate in half,
beautiful.
I’ve never seen her be anything except beautiful,
not even once,
not even as she grabbed her stomach,
where our beautiful flower bloomed,
not even as she screamed in pain.
She was the essence of everything fantastic, and whatever she did reflected that.
I used to love the smell of pomegranate.
It would wake me up,
and I would follow it down the hall,
to the kitchen,
and into the arms of my beautiful wife.
The pure, sweet scent reminded me of Sunday mornings,
and Sunday mornings reminded me of every reason
life was worth living:
Her
.
I was silent
as I began to clean the counter top off,
the apples went in the trash,
the bananas went in the trash,
but the pomegranate…
the pomegranate stared at me from where it was.
It burned a hole into me.
I picked it up,
and the very touch made me angry.
I  couldn’t bare the thought of it being near me.
Its sweet smell turned putrid in my hands.
I threw it as hard as I could,
its path going through the window,
and the glass made a sound I’ll never forget.
But the fact was,
I threw it out,
and it was gone.
The smell of pomegranate
would never be here again
on Sunday mornings.
And neither would she.

I watched 2am turn to 3am.
Everyone losing an hour of sleep,
and myself losing an hour of lying in my bed, thinking about you.

Funny how when it storms,
You’re lying in bed,
The lightning cracks,
The thunder shakes your walls,
And yet,
You feel safe.

Funny how when you’re in love,
You’re lying in bed,
Your heart aches,
The pain rattles your bones,
And yet,
You feel safe.

When all is certainly lost,
I remember that there is at least one person out in this world,
whose soul was made from the same ingredients as mine.
And you remind me of this every day that I’m sad,
when you offer me a piece of yours,
to mend mine that which is broken.

There once was a girl with rivers in her eyes.
She’d sit in a field and cry, cry, cry.
Her tears flooded the whole town
until she sank under her misery and drowned.

Her hair was made of the finest gold
Her dress of lace in a beautiful fold,
Her bones of silver under porcelain skin,
Her problems large and her happiness thin.

A boy full of butterflies and charm,
who wanted to cure her sorrow,
but what could be the harm,
in waiting until tomorrow?

He looked through her eyes and into her mind,
An entirely new universe of some kind.
Her thoughts blended into colors and lines,
And in her world everything was fine.

She tip-toed through the hallway,
And shuffled through the door,
But she couldn’t escape her heartache;
And she fell to the floor.

She drowned in her sorrows,
But floated up to the stars,
She danced on the sun,
And slept on mars.

There once was a girl with a faucet where her head should be.
People lined up with buckets to fill.
They filled and filled and ran her dry, till there was nothing left of her

I would give up sleeping,
my favorite thing to do,
if it meant I got to spend
every waking minute
with you.

If I had the courage,
or the grace,
or if this was an old-time movie,
I’d pick Forget-Me-Nots from the garden,
and leave them at your doorstep.

But this isn’t a movie,
and I am but a coward,
so shall the flowers stay where they grow,
and instead, I’ll try to forget
everything.

Do you ever feel like the universe is mocking you?
Playing a cruel joke?
Because he’s the only one who makes you believe…
…Believe in anything and everything, and sometimes nothing at all.
And all you want to do is find him, hold his hand.
Because he says you’re beautiful, and you actually start to see it.
You thought you were doomed, but he proves you wrong.
Or right.
I’m still not sure.
And he’s so far away.

It’s been a while,
since I’ve felt this way.
It feels like I could write an entire novel about you,
but only one sentence keeps repeating:
I can’t sleep at night.


Has anyone ever made you feel
like your entire world is crashing around you?
Suddenly I’m realizing how big the world is,
and how far away you are.


And I wish I could write poems
about how one day
I’ll be able to hold your hand
forever.



But instead all I can write about is how
you make me so happy that I hate myself
for falling for you.