Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
You are the almost-silent
of my coffee-stained summer.
You are the clear and tender
plucking of guitar strings
on a lazy afternoon;

With sunlight streaming through
the painted window,
just bright enough to fill the room
but gentle enough to fall asleep to;

with the smell of everything we love—
caffeine and chocolate and banana muffins—
seemingly coursing through our veins
with every breath we take;

with the daydream of
what-could-be lingering
in the haze, in the silence
it sits,
it waits.

I proceed to the only thing
I know how to do
at this hour of day:
I stare at the cars passing by,
all the while wishing
I was staring at you instead.
If you look closely
you'll see
there are still
unerasable traces of you
in my everyday.
I sat atop the kitchen counter, watching
the first traces of dawn through the window,
and so appeared the gentlest ripples of pink
as the sunlight kissed the horizon.

My breathing slowed to a stop.
I checked my pulse.
The night's affairs replay in my head.

Our words came rolling
out of our mouths like fireworks.
Loud, deafening explosions;
their impact so brilliant, and
so painfully real. Yet,
the memory of them felt
far away as soon as they were said.

I lay on my back.
The wounds from our outbursts
sting all over.
I took the last swig of *****.

I am so desperate
for time to slow down, because
soon, you'd be at the door
as I see your car's engine
running behind you
ready to be filled
with all that's left of you.
Soon, all that's left of us
would be dust
from where your things lay now.

There was a knock at the door,
and I clumsily made my way.

I looked through the peephole
and felt myself slowly crumble
as I saw you standing
on the other side.
"No," I wept, "not yet."

The door creaked as I opened it.
There you stood,
looking a little older
and little more tired
than you did when we first met.

I prepared myself for another breakdown,
but before I knew it,
your arms were crushing me
into your chest
so much that my breathing
hitched as you hugged me tighter.

You rested your forehead on mine,
and through our tears,
you said three words so simple,
yet so moving,
that it pieces
my whole world back together.
Everything from the night before
seemed miniscule
as I looked and saw
my entire universe
in your eyes.

"I choose this."
I started this piece as an application for a school organization that specializes in the different forms of art, but I struggled to finish it as I couldn't figure out how it's supposed to end. I had originally planned for it to be one of the darkest and most heartbreaking of pieces that I would ever write, but the truth stands that in most cases, a story writes itself. So tonight, a few weeks after my forfeit, I'm met with a bumpy road in my relationship, and my boyfriend's words were so compelling that it opened my eyes to how I'm supposed to finish this piece. Because of him, I saw that it's meant to have a happy ending after all.
It is such a funny thing
how love drifts back and forth
between tangled limbs;
    amongst a mess of sheets;
        through bruised kisses,
             and; alcohol-riddled breaths.
She rolled over
and nestled herself
in the crook of his arms.
This motion
seems to have grown
into the comfort of routine;
a rhythm
that their bodies have created,
quietly speaking the words
that were left unsaid.
"The night is young,
and endless,
and beautiful;" she murmured.

"As are you," he returned.
The vestigial four o'clock light
nudges me awake
and my eyes obey.
For a moment,
I have no recollection
of where it is that I lie,
until I hear the rasp
in your voice
make the gentlest rumble.
A chill runs down my spine
as I am reminded of the night prior.
I turn over
to blanket myself
in your warmth,
and it seems as though
I have just woken up
to a dream.
I have surrendered to the darkness by now.
The long night still lingers
  upon the horizon.
The chill gnawed at me
     with every minute movement
  my body could manage.
No matter where I looked
        all I could see
     was pitch-black.
I have been walking blind
   for too many fortnights.
I walked,
    as I was incapable
of doing anything more.
          I had become no one.
                         And then,
                           a rustling.
My ears perked up;
         I could not bear to speak
    as my throat had gone dry.
I stood in silence
   for what seemed like hours.
I scanned the darkness once more
      and this time
          I saw the smallest flickering light
          from a paramount distance.
What is that?
It might have been
something as kind
     as a stingy little candle
or as tumultuous as a forest fire
but no matter.
    It was a sign of life.
         I had been cold
         for far too long.
           I walked towards the light,
       leaving the last stretches
    of darkness behind me.
This may lead to more anguish,
    but it may also lead
     to a place beaming with warmth.
  And no amount of walking
will be too much for me to bear.
Guess what inspired this piece.
Next page