I’m feeling the need to go solo.*

Fly free.*
(Please don’t forget me.)

Blue skies.
White clouds.
Yellow sun.

Warm eyes.
Warm smile.
Warm heart.

Charged phone.
Loading app.
Message sent.

Shining eyes.
Happy smile.
Fluttering heart.

Long wait.
Shrugging shoulders.
No response.

Sad eyes.
Wane smile.
Fragile heart.

Phone bleeps.
Short reply.
Wrong response.

Teary eyes.
Missing smile.
Broken heart.

Blue skies.
Empty promise.

White clouds.
Hide feelings.

Yellow sun.
Go away.

My grandma gave me a jingle,
as she liked to say,
and asked if I would like to go shopping with her tomorrow.

She knew I would accept her invitation,
as I've never turned her away before,
so I am sure she was counting on an all day road trip
in her purple minivan.

The next morning,
I sat on my front porch,
hands in pocket,
as I waited not so patiently for her to  arrive.

My feet tapped the cracked cement
as I watched the red ants
scurry around my shoes.
I tried as hard as I could not to squish any.

With every car that happened to turn onto my road,
I lifted my head up,
expecting it to be her.

First a silver car,
then a gold truck.
After that, a blue van.
Where was the purple minivan
with the fire helmet on the tip of the antenna?

Five minutes turned to twenty,
twenty minutes turned to forty five,
forty five minutes turned into two hours.
Still no crunch of the gravel.
Should I give her a call?

I could have used one of the Lifesaver mints
she had in her purse,
in her pockets,
on the floor of her purple minivan.

Mints calmed the nerves and stimulated the brain,
she always told me.
She would say that
with her slow and patient smile
as she unwrapped another mint.

Just as I began to really worry,
my grandpa gave me a jingle
and told me that grandma overshot my house,
accidentally taking her purple minivan
all the way up into the sky
so she could shop with the angels today.

Shattered glass rains
down on my body,
each piece glittering
and shimmering
in the sunlight
like tiny gems meant
for the crown of
a majestic queen.
The chair that I
had thrown lies
limp, unable to
move until I gave
it permission
to do so.
I stood the chair
up and moved
it back into the
dining room,
tucking it safely
away from me
underneath
the table where
it belonged.
I sometimes
wish that I
were that chair.

Bloodshot eyes greet me
when I look into the mirror.
I shuffle my way into the
kitchen, where I smell bacon.
The sizzling popping noise
soothes my half awake mind.
A plate appears in front of me
and two eggs with a side of
bacon peer up at me,
begging to be eaten.
He plops into a chair
beside me with a plate
of his own and we
dig into our breakfast.
I watch him chomp his
greasy bacon and
I smile widely.
Another day
has begun
and I am thankful.

Writing is exhausting.
I feel as if I am scrambling to scratch down
all of my feelings
before they drift away,
leaving myself drained and open for all to see.

Writing is exhilarating.
My fingers cannot move fast enough
as I let emotions spill onto the page,
relieving the building tension
that was once pressing down on my chest.

Writing rescued me.

An ocean of ice once covered my entire surface
Until you came along.
You crash landed into me.
My inner core began to melt.
I am now a molten mass of warmth.