What if this is me, losing my love?
What if this is my love being taken from me, kidnapped and ransomed and I don't have enough energy in my body to pay up?

Saturdays were her favorite.  She'd watch cartoons in the morning and play with paper dolls in the afternoon.  She made sure all the paper dolls had another doll to love them, a perfect match of brown eyes, cute smiles, light hair.

Where have you gone? I barely recognize you anymore.  How can I make you look new if all you ever do is sit in the corner like an old doll?  You're fragile, you're breakable.  I don't like what you've become and quite frankly, you're scaring me.  Stay over there, don't come close.  Tell me why your eyes are glazed over like that, tell me why your hair is coming out in patches and why your full pink smile has turned into a thin white line.  You were my best friend, you were my sister, you were my little Kelly.*

Sometimes she would watch the people that walked by.  She would choose names for each person and pick one individual out, imagining what their reaction would be to her saying, "I love you, will you run away with me?"

Come back, please.  When you started fading I thought it was because you had been in the sun too long, I thought it was because you hadn't had any food in some time.  Our tea parties became rare occurrences and you were always sleeping.  Come back, little Kelly.

One day she woke up with an energy made of something she couldn't measure.  Not joules, not electron volts, not anything she could quantize.  It wasn't the caffeine and it wasn't the 7 hours of sleep the night prior.  She woke up in love.

I've been trying to sell our house for two and a half years and it just won't sell.  You're poisoning this house, my old friend.  You need to leave, you need to be buried in the backyard, with the puppy we adopted and the bunny I hit with the truck when I was 17.  You need to get out of my house now.  We're both much too old to play together, and you never seemed to understand that I had to move on.

Her trouble was that she woke up in love with one stranger too many.  She's lied so many times that she doesn't trust herself anymore.  Make her decisions for her, she's not a fit mother to these poisonous ideas she is fostering in her head.  Don't allow her to choose her future.

Kelly, don't you see, I don't love you the way I used to.  Kelly, you need to go.  A family is stopping by this afternoon to take a tour of the house and you need to be swept out of the attic by then.  Pack your things.  Take your cracked glasses and your grey shoes.  I'm too old to be a part of your family now.

--

She sees a hint of what she fell in love with.  His eyes are downcast, his fingers strumming and thrumming her love songs without words, his mouth twitching with thoughts he can't seem to string into sentences.  He is a beautiful child again.

Sing me songs even chickadees don't know, strum me the most beautiful lullaby.  Take a picture of this moment- bottle it.
  
She loves the hint of a smile when he catches her staring at his lips instead of the neck of his guitar, when he realizes she is in maddening, chaotic love.

And some days you're just a friend.  I see you leaking from your life, straight out of your backyard.  And sometimes you mean nothing.  I see you standing alone on your deck, sitting on your cement paradise like it's your imaginary god.  Keep yourself in check.  You won't be getting any more kisses tonight, I can't – I can't let you be the one to make up my mind.
  
She can barely remember the days of being alone, of being unable to tell anyone about her scars shrouding her hips and her head that hung heavy.

Today was a fever, a fog of anger.  I want to make you hate me, I want you to leave.  Save your lies and excuses for someone else, I don't want to hear them. I hope the fog can creep in my ears and into my brain.  I want it to make me forget everything about you.  I'm sure I'd be happier.  Maybe if the fog can erase my memories, I can finally stop crying.  Maybe I can stop trying to prove I want to die.  Let me **** myself, let me go.  You're smoke in the wind and you're fading with every breath I take.

Sophomore year of high school was the most difficult time of her life.  Fortunately for her, she met you that winter.  You made her smile, you made her laugh. She found a boy whose blue eyes and long brown hair complimented her own. Her paper doll dream come true, you loved her as she was.

You are smog.  Your face is no longer a child of summer, your hair has gotten long and tangled.  Your eyes are clouded, and you are fading, slipping from my fingers.  As your soul dies in my arms, as I try to save you, you steal my breath, grab at my lungs, take what is keeping me alive.  What is there to fix, and can it be put back together again? L-o-v-e is only four letters long, but then again, so is your name, and god knows that doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

--

His back was straight and his stomach was soft.  The hollow of his collar bone and hip bone spelled her name in 12 point font kisses.  Her breath came out in gasps and he shivered from the thought of being able to coax such unfamiliar passion from her lips.

You are the night.  You are the wind in my dreams and the birds in my hair.  Lift me higher, I want no control.  I want to see the tops of buildings above the low level clouds; the spires piercing the sky like needles piercing my flesh.

The feeling doesn't wear away.  Days have passed and they still long for each other.  Their bodies feel the urge to be near, to be touching.

*Let us set sail on the tunes of summer, of air conditioners and scratchy radios.  Let us sail away from this life.

and in those moments when
she breaks down into
a mess of tears and a
pounding head
she can barely think of anything
except
"i wish i could take it all back
i wish i could just take everything back"

and she panics and panics
but nothing can fix it now.

The way he touched me
when we first got serious
was much different from how
he touched me at the end
of it all.

His hands used to be soft
and his eyes drank in
every curve of my body,
every freckle of my skin.
He would look up at me like
I was a new adventure,
and I knew that this whole
night of romance was for me-
he wanted me to really feel
how much he cherished me.

I miss those days
immensely.

At the end his hands were
much more rough,
his eyes averted mine.
He couldn't see me as a treasure-
I was just flesh under his own.
It became all about his lust,
his desperateness to feel something real.

And that night that held
a surprise showing of
grins and grimaces and
a couple almost-kisses,
it felt like home.
I am terrified to remember
that night because
I realized something:
His fingers grazed my skin
like they did
in the beginning,
he looked at me like I was new.

It's terrifying because
the only thing holding me together
is knowing that the boy I love
is nothing like the boy I left.
And now that I caught that glimpse,
and now that I know he's
exactly the same as he used to be,
my head is spinning and
my heart spasms in pain.
I was wrong and there are no words
to describe how sad that makes me.

But I made the choice
to walk away from the confusion
for enough time to realize
that I'm okay with being alone.

And even if I were to find someone new,
I would always feel like I was cheating,
like anything I could ever feel
for someone else
would be a lie.
And even if I were to be with him again,
I would feel like I was doing him
a disservice,
like even if I was loving him,
I still wouldn't be genuine enough
to make him feel loved.
I will always and forever feel like
I am cheating on the man I love.

And that's the price I will pay
for the immense disservice
I have already paid him.

tonight did not
end up like i
wanted it to.

the little sparrow watched as the nest was ripped apart.  twigs were tossed,
berries crushed, and his younger brother was clawed at until he no longer
moved.  it was a horrible scene, and the little sparrow was trembling, hiding
behind the trunk of the great tree.  he cried out, screaming for help.  his
mother had been gone for four days.  she never left them alone for that long.

the sky was dimming, the clouds swarming around the rising moon.  the little
sparrow's voice was weakening.  he had been crying for hours and he was all
alone.  a crackling of sticks and crunchy leaves below caught the little
sparrow's attention.  a mud-red fox was tiptoeing around the base of the tree,
his eyes trained on the little helpless sparrow.  the baby bird once again
started up his crying.

as the fox was trying to find a way to get up to the higher branch that the
little sparrow sat on, a dark fluttering of feathers crashed down on top of
him.  a large crow was pecking and scratching at the fox, who was howling
in pain.  the fox managed to get a claw into the crow's wing, and blood seeped
from the velvet-tipped feathers.  the crow only grew fiercer, and chased the
fox away from the tree and into the forest.

the little sparrow cried quietly, frightened and unable to steady himself on
his branch.  the poor baby fell from the branch onto a soft bed of leaves on
the ground below.  the little sparrow tried to get up, but was much too
frantic to stand.  the crow hopped toward the sparrow, who attempted to hide
in the crispy leaves.  the crow said nothing, he did not make any movements.  
he only gazed at the little sparrow with his large, black eyes.  the little
sparrow fainted from fear.

the nest was rebuilt when the little sparrow woke up.  there were berries in
the corner and plenty of feathers and tufts of fur to keep him warm.  the
little sparrow looked around, trying to find his mother.  she had been gone
for five days, and she never left him alone for that long.  

in the haze of morning light, the little sparrow saw the large crow, standing
on a fence post, staring out over the field.  the little sparrow called to
him, but the crow pretended not to notice.  a drop of blood fell from his wing
and the crow spoke. "i am no mother, but i will keep you safe, little sparrow.  
you have been left all alone and you are but a child.  do not fear the night
nor the creatures that hunt, for i will be here with you."

i remember small bits about him.  maybe less about him, and more about
the things that had to do with him.  i remember the look of his piano: glossy,
always shining and clean, the pedals made a haunting squeal every few stanzas.
i remember that his shirt fit to his arms very well, showing off the fact
that he was in shape.  the veins and tendons in his arms were always visible,
lifting and writhing under his usually tan skin.  i can remember how his
shadow danced and swung against the wall as he played songs that his mother
had taught him when he was young and new to the music world.  he sometimes
burst out laughing in the middle of a song, remembering something funny that
had been said earlier that day.  i think that's what i miss most about him- he
was never on time for anything.

i remember small bits about him, but i can't recall what he smelled like, or
how his forehead creased when he was worried.  i can't remember what his face
looked like.  i can't even summon up the memory of how his lips tasted on my
tongue.


--

the trees were reaching up, doing gymnastics across the sky on the morning
that he left town.  he was wearing his old winter coat and ratty old hat,
pulled down tight to cover his ears.  the ground was a mess of never-raked
leaves.  i was a mess of never-wiped tears.  the sky was white, and i thought
to myself, 'i wonder when it'll start snowing...'  

he held onto my waist one last time, and placed his lips to my neck.  he
inhaled and i heard his breath catch in his throat.  he looked up at me one
last time and cleared his throat.  "I should go, Anne."  he turned then, and
started walking down the dirt path away from our house, our home.  the snow
began to fall, and as he faded into nothingness i swore i'd never forget him.

--

on the night of my twenty third birthday there was a full moon.  my friends
and i thought it would be fun to have a fire and see which of us could count
the most stars.  the yard was surrounded by tall oaks, which were home to
hundreds of birds.  when i was young we hung dozens of birdhouses i had
painted up in the branches.  some mornings i like to lay out in the grass and
listen to the birds wake up and sing.  tonight the birds stayed up, as if they
wanted to celebrate my birthday with us.  they flew from tree to tree,
darkening the sky along with the smoke from the bonfire.  

the full moon brings out the crazy in animals.  i remember when he was still
here and we would run around down by the creek in the moonlight.  but the
birds were wild.  we ended up putting out the fire and going inside, afraid
they would dive down and attack us.  i've never seen them that riled up.

--

i remember the night he showed up quite well.  i may not remember how the
tears ran down his cheeks, or how his breath was catching on every syllable he
spat out, but i remember that night well.  the moon was thin, and i was
sitting at the kitchen counter, reading a book i recently purchased.  i heard
him knock- a truly hollow sound.  when i opened the screen door i saw him
sitting on the step, holding his head in his hands and his hair in his fists.  
his veins were still visible, and his shoulders were strong.  he had grown out
his hair and it was strewn every which way.  i suspect he thought i could help
him.  i knew i couldn't.

he stayed over that night.  i walked him to my bed and tucked him in.  he
brought the blankets up to his face and he inhaled deeply.  he smiled beneath
the covers, i suspect.  i read him some of the book that he interrupted when
he arrived.  he fell asleep soon after and i left the room, headed for the
couch in the living room.  i wish i would've stayed in bed with him.  i might
have remembered more than this if i had.

--

i awoke to the sound of the old piano.  i thought i was dreaming when i heard
his voice diving and tiptoeing with the notes he plucked and played.  i padded
into the room, where we first fell in love all those years ago.  he was
rocking on the bench, tears dropping to his lap from wet cheeks.  there was a
note on top of the piano, addressed to me.  it began with 'I would like to
thank you, Anne...' and ended with 'but we both know I won't be staying.'  

he stood and turned to me, and just like last time, he placed his lips to my
neck and inhaled my scent.  "I've missed this piano."  i wrapped my arms
around him, and murmured in his ear, "and the piano's missed you, but we both
know you won't be staying."  his eyes met mine, and i smiled as i wiped away a
stray tear from his chin.  he nodded, and gave me one last hug before he
walked down the driveway for the last time.