Some things can't be forced,
No matter how hard you try;
And some things can't be forced
With no real reason why.

Dumb luck first put us together,
And I tried to keep us apart;
But you pushed me, made luck prevail.
Now I hold my bleeding heart.

I wasn't what you really wanted;
You weren't my cup of tea.
So please shut the door behind you,
Just go and let me be.

"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."

I've been here for a few years now,
leaning back into the wall and waiting for my train.
Six years. I've waited six years
and not realized until just last year
that my train isn't coming.
It never will.

I remember the day we arrived.
Joyful. Hopeful. Eager for an adventure
and ready to leave this God-forsaken town.
June 10, 2007, we arrived: clueless.

The first person passed eight months later,
February 15, 2008.
She has slumped to the ground now. . .
nothing more than a pile of disintegrating bones.
August 12, 2008-- the second person died.
Now he, or what remains of him,
occupies the darkest, shadowed corner.

One by one, my fellow travelers passed
with no warning or sign.
Each body is in a different state of decomposition,
bearing an individual horror story
that will never be heard.
There is no one to hear it.

With each passing dawn,
I prepare myself for death;
as each day breaks,
I'm perpetually surprised that
my eyes open again.
The only thing left to do now is wait --
Wait for my impending death,
Wait to tell the stories of these surrounding skeletons,
And wait for a train that will never arrive.

Here I am--
in the middle of my favorite cafe in old town.
My soft brown curls fall in front of my shoulders
and almost into my lipstick stained mug.

Here I am--
in my new sundress that shows off my hips;
I'm armed with my composition book, favorite pen,
and a genuine smile.

But there you are--
Walking up to the counter with a new Beauty,
holding her the way you used to hold me:
gentle but firm, and keeping her content.

There I go--
escaping through the smudged glass door
before you ever noticed me,
giving you a chance to stumble upon your new Serendipity.

Here I am--
Wrapped up in my blankets
Captured  within my own harrowing darkness.

Here I am--
sinking further into a reclusive state
whispering *It's just too much.

I didn't plan for this to happen,
But Life pays no mind to my plans.

I remember the day I looked Life
In the face and said
Today will be beautiful.
A coy smile came about her
And she slowly shook her head.
Anything you say, dear;
But I have other plans instead.

That was the day my sister
Got into the car
Where she took her last breath.

But a few years have passed now,
And Life gained compassion with her age.

I sternly told Life
I will not fall in love with him
Again she smiled, but made no sound
As she silently clasped her wrinkled, feminine hands.

Look at me now.
I didn't mean for this to happen
But he's always on my mind.

Look in the mirror
And open your eyes to the
Beauty you possess.