One day,
I fell to the ground,
and couldn’t get back up.
I just collapsed,
like a rag doll
on the cold
hard
floor.
My tears fell fast,
but they were silent.
Dead quiet.
Softer than a whisper.
I thought no one heard.
I was wrong.
He did.

One day,
I fell to the ground,
and there was someone waiting.
He stood there
above me
like some kind of savior.
I stared at Him
through my not-so-silent tears.
I watched His hand reach out
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
For me.

One day,
I fell to the ground,
but I didn’t stay for long.
I grasped on to Him,
to His strong hands
and His warm smile.
I held tight,
because I wasn’t ever going back there.
Not ever again.

Sometimes,
when I lay in bed awake at night,
I stare at the empty space next to me,
and imagine you there.
Your curls splay out on the pillow,
your glasses slightly crooked,
your silly smile on your face.

Sometimes,
I imagine us staying up all night,
just talking,
and talking
and talking.

Sometimes,
I imagine you singing for me,
your beautiful voice filling my room,
lulling me to sleep.

Sometimes,
when I lay in bed awake at night,
And stare at the empty space next to me,
and imagine you there.
You whisper my name.
I reach out for you,
for your perfect hair,
your beautiful smile.

But then you’re gone,
and there is nothing but a pillow,
and an empty space.

The tears left my cheeks hot and dry.
I closed my eyes,
but there was no escaping from you.
My neck burned from the absence of your warm lips.
My hands reached,
only to find empty air.
A shiver ran down my spine
as the coldness of the room hit my body.
The echos of your laughter teased my ears.
I opened my eyes.
Darkness enveloped me.
My heart sank down down down,
to my legs and my feet and my toes,
until it slipped out of my body and onto the floor.
I fell to my knees,
a sob escaping from my lips.
My hands flailed about the cold tile,
searching searching searching.
I touched something.
Something with five fingers
and warm skin.
I tried to slip my hand in yours,
but you were already grasping something tight.
You stumbled back into the darkness,
stretching the distance between us.
Only when you’re footsteps had faded away
did I realize that the thing you had been holding was my heart.

She loved the feeling of the ball at her feet,
the sound of it spinning across the turf
and tapping gently against her cleat.
She loved the feeling of adrenaline rushing through her body,
a smile on her face
as the ball hit the back of the net.
She loved the feeling of the wind on her face,
her feet barely touching the turf
as she flew down the field.
She loved it,
she loved it,
she loved it.
Every little thing made her heart pound
and her eyes sparkle.
Energy coursed through her body.
When she stepped onto that field,
it all went away.
The essay due tomorrow,
and the fights with her family at home.
Gone.
The hunt for a job,
and the decision to play in college.
Gone.
Searching for herself,
and her relationship with the one true king.
Gone.
Everything that mattered blew away in the chilly wind
when she laced up her cleats and grabbed her ball.
Everything that defined her,
all the labels and the numbers and the names,
became a distant memory as she stepped into a new world
and became someone else.
Strong.
Quick.
Powerful.
Courageous.
Unstoppable.
A warrior,
in love with the game.

I think there’s a magnet inside of me
pulling me to you.
I do not decide where my body goes.
My feet just begin to walk
my arms just begin to swing
and they do not stop until I am with you.
I feel the magnet
pressing against my belly button.
It whispers secrets into my veins.
They rush through my body
tickling my skin
until my heart aches for you.

I think there’s a rope
connecting our souls.
I am being tugged forward
****** forward
so hard I almost fall flat on my face.
I feel the tension of the rope
tight in my chest.
It squeezes the air right from my lungs
leaving me lightheaded
and dizzy
and thinking only of you.

I can’t decide if I want this,
if I want you.
But I don’t think I have a choice.
We tend to think the mind is in control.
Headquarters. Home base.
But it is your soul.
Your core.
Your deepest emotions.
When the brain says no,
the heart is the one who hits override.

People ask me why I’m so quiet.
Why I’m so shy.
I just look at them
stare right through them
watch as everything fades away around them.
And there they are.
All of them.
All of the people who closed my mouth
and stole my voice.

Look.
Do you see her?
Do you see the girl
who went behind my back
and used her voice to whisper lies?
Look.
Do you see him?
Do you see the boy
who filled his voice
with fake promises of friendship?
Look.
Do you see her?
Do you see the girl
who threw her words at me
with so much force and hate
that they left bruises on my heart?

No.
I know.
You do not see them.
All you see is a quiet girl
a shy girl
who doesn’t know how to speak her mind.
You think I don’t want my voice to be heard.
But how can it be heard when I don’t have one?

You found me clinging to the edge
of an old and broken bridge.
My hands grasped the concrete so tightly
that my knuckles had turned white
and my palms were stinging from all the cuts.
My arms burned from the strain of hanging on
as gravity tugged relentlessly at my feet.

Your black converse stomped into place
just between my tired fingers.
You stared down at me with piercing green eyes
and eyebrows tightly knit together in a frown.
There was silence.

Then your arm slowly stretched out
and I dangerously lifted a hand to meet it.
You came closer and closer and closer…
I could almost feel the strong grip of gravity releasing me.
I could almost hear the sigh of relief from my exhausted muscles.
The tips of our fingers touched.

And then you pulled back.
I stared up at you with wide eyes
as you slowly began to walk away.
Fear and desperation sank deep into my chest
as your legs,
then your waist,
then your neck disappeared from sight.
A small whimper escaped from my throat
as your head bobbled on the horizon of my vision,
and then just like that,
you were gone.

You found me clinging to the edge
of an old and broken bridge.
And you left me there.
You left my hands to bleed
and my knuckles to ache.
You left my arms to go numb
and my tired body to be swept away
by the strong clutches of gravity.

You left me there
you left me there
you left me there.
And when you watched me fall,
spiraling towards the ground
like a rag doll,
you thought you saw my skull crack,
or my ribs break first.
But you were wrong.
The first thing to break was my heart.

I am not the creator.
I did not create words.
The letters
and the sounds,
they are not mine.

But I am the thinker.
In the deep depths of my mind,
I find the people and the places
the feelings and the details
the beginnings and the endings.

But I am the ******.
I take the letters in my hand,
pushing them together
and breaking them apart.
I take the words on the page,
twisting
and molding
and transforming.

But I am the painter.
My sentences scrawl across the page,
creating pictures in your mind
and emotions in your heart.
My words,
your time machine.
Your portal to a new world.

I am not the creator.
I did not create words.
But I created the stories.
Those are mine.
I used the words
that sit dry on the pages,
and in people’s mouths,
thinking
and bending
and painting with them.

I am not the creator.
I am the storyteller.