Nihit Bhatia Mar 13
I was sixteen when dad passed away and mom was forty six at that time. Our world just ended, like the twin towers of America.
But what shocked mom even more was my affair with a school boy, who was our neighbor too.
She confiscated all his love letters, before I could even glance through them. My world, my first love story too ended like those towers.
It wasn't until I turned 25 and fine one day, as I was cleaning my mom's room, I found those letters written for me by my ex, hidden in my mom's clothes along with the rose flower.
When I started reading, I realized why mom confiscated those letters in the first place. Those were not letters, instead poems of lust mixed with love.
While reading those poems, I never realized when I got undressed and started   making my fingers dance between my thighs.
I am pretty sure those poems satisfied mom too every night at the fullest. Lemme read one here:
"Come her my dirty bitch,
  Come to your master,
‎ who is waiting anxiously,
‎ to explore your body,
‎ Tonight I won't stop,
  And make you,
  ‎ride me non-stop,
  ‎till you go breathless".
This is a short story mixed with a poem. Trying something different. Hope you guys like it.
Honest feedbacks would be appreciated.
Jeff Gaines Mar 10
OK Reader, I'm going to tell you a tale … with great trepidation. You see, this tale, well, it's kind of like telling someone that you've seen a UFO. They want to believe you, but … it's never really been proven scientifically. Not to mention the fact that most folks who believe in such things are often the tin-hat wearing types, written off as … lets be nice and call them “odd”. And, of course, the more you swear to it, the crazier you appear. It's an epic tale, spanning 30 years of my crazy life.

  But, It's a story I want to tell, because it happened to me. I can barely understand it myself, let alone explain it. So … I'm just going to launch into it and you take it any way you wish.

Where Can You Be?

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I'll search with gazes and I'll search with cars,
I'll search the cities and I'll search the stars, well …
I'm gonna find you, oh, wherever you are,
I'm gonna find you baby …  near or far, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I thought I'd found ya, but she wasn't you,
that girl she left alone and blue, well …
I know that's something that you'd never do,
your love has always been strong and true, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

If you must settle for some other man
and deviate from our immortal plan, well …
I hope you realize I will understand
and I'll try and do the best that I can, but …

Where will I be?
Where will I be, my love?
Hoping the next life sees …
our destiny!

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

~Wednesday, April 1st, 1987
10:30 P.M.

  I was singing in a band back in those days and, as it happened, this was the last song I'd ever write for it. Just after this, as it does, it all came crashing down and the band was finished. But in those last days, they pondered this song, with great puzzlement. You see, it was unlike anything I'd brought them before. It wasn't rock … It wasn't a ballad … it wasn't even structured like a “normal” 80's rock song.
  No bridge, no solo, no loud grinding guitars, etc. It even had bits where I hummed, yes hummed, the melody, like a lullaby. As they read the lyrics and I described how it went, they all looked at me like I had three heads and asked where this had come from. It was nothing like anything I'd written before. I could only tell them when and where I'd written it, but had no explanation of what inspired it. It had just came to me, so I wrote it down. They didn't know what to make of it, or even what to do with it.

  One of them said it sounded like a late 70's or early 80's adult contemporary song or even in the vein of The Eagles. Another asked if was about reincarnation … And I honestly, until that moment, hadn't thought of it that way, I didn't think like that at 24 … but then, one of them said it was “Haunting” …


  “Wow”, I thought, I'd never had anything I'd written described as that before. When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me that it was haunting to think that this poor guy is desperately seeking a girl, that may or may not even know that he exists … in a world with billions of people in it. To top that off, he fears that she may off and marry someone else if he doesn't find her in time.

  This, along with the suggestion of it being about reincarnation made me rethink and rewrite the song. Well, a few lines in the last verse and chorus anyways. It actually made the song flow better and seem more complete. In a way, it actually made the song make more sense … to me and them. Sadly, we never did anything with it. There wouldn't be time. Ha … Time … how ironic. Over 10 years later, came this …

For Someone I've Never Met

Please save a place for me,
deep inside your heart.
Always know that I think of you,
as we both practice our arts.

Our worlds are full of temptations,
so very hard to resist …
and the good Lord knows
we're both far from,
sixteen and never been kissed.
Wealthy men with jaws divine …
Temptresses with looks so fine …
Paths that lead our hearts away …
Paths that surely lead astray …

They'll lead us there every time.
They'll leave us there … so  unkind.
Our hearts must shine,
night and day.
Through any darkness … they'll light our way.

If you never touch my face …
If I never look into your eyes …
We'll always have the comfort of sharing
the same
big, blue sky.

If I never smell your hair …
If you never kiss my lips …
Always know the search for your smile
has launched a thousand ships.

So, I hope you save a place for me
in your heart so sweet and kind.
Please, save a place for me …
Heaven knows you've one in mine.

~Thursday, September 9th, 1999
9 A.M.


“For Someone I've Never Met ” poured out of me in the midst of another breakup from the second, and last, girl that I wanted to marry. That emotion, never found me again. I looked at it on my computer screen and smiled, seeing “Where Can You Be”, in my mind, on my tattered old note pad that I called my “Song Book”. The memory of me writing it while sitting in my Z-28, looking out over the Gulf of Mexico as a beautiful heat lighting storm sent bolts across the sky, came flooding back; as did the debate of reincarnation I'd had with my pals in the rehearsal room all those years before. Here I was, again, writing about “someone” that I sensed, for lack of a better term, was out there … somewhere.

  Well Reader, do you believe in reincarnation? I was never really certain, but, as you can see, I had twice written pieces to someone I wasn't completely sure existed. I had always “sensed” someone out there beginning with the period after I wrote “Where Can You Be?” and thereafter. So, there they were, each written after losing someone I was deeply in love with. Each came out of nowhere, as they usually do. By the time I was in my 40's, I began to think I was either imagining it all (a side effect of being a hopeless romantic) or that I had just somehow missed this person and our “moment”.

  And then …


There was a place.
There was a time …
There, I stood … still unknowing
and everything seemed fine.

But there in that place …
at that moment in time …
the moment I saw the eyes,
I'd never believed I'd find.

Well, what could I say?
What could I do?
In a world filled with billions …
and there … was a you.

I'd always known you were out there …
even written of something amiss.
I never, ever stopped looking for you …
because my heart always said you exist.

My breezy Fall became harshest Winter.
My crazy life left my health running out.
I'd resigned myself that our moment had passed …
but this moment … it removed all doubt.

Well, what could I say?
Tell me, what could I do?
There we stood, staring … alone … in a city of millions …
yes, there … there was a you.

Oh, that mistress fate, she is just so cruel.
Frustration, a curse to be mine.
   I'd searched for you my entire life …
but now … my clock … knows a limit of time.

You see, I would never venture a love with you,
while knowing I'd have to leave you … hurt and alone.
I could only admire from afar … stoic and aloof …
while turning my heart into stone.

Nothing I could ever say and nothing I could ever do …
But now, at long last … at least I finally knew.

There, you stood … green seas, gazing up … into skies of blue.
My long-awaited revelation … become sorrow-laced realization.
There really is … a you.

~August 12th, 2009

  Typical of my life-long Charlie Brown syndrome … After being told in 2005 that I had “the lungs of an eighty-year-old man” and that I had “Six to Ten years” to live, I made a conscious decision in that Doctor's parking lot that I could never have another girlfriend and that I must face this alone. I don't see woman as objects. They are glorious creatures that are here to be our partners and friends and to make our lives amazing. I could never, ever knowingly let a woman fall in love with me, all the while knowing I was going to die and leave her. It's not in me to do such a thing, lonely or not.

  Yes, I'm still alive, I'm stubborn like that. But, some days are better than others and my new doctors say that they don't give people “time limits” anymore … because of people like me. I can't afford the lung transplant. So, as Bono so aptly put in one of his songs: “The rich stay healthy, while the sick stay poor”. It is what it is … and like the energizer bunny, I'm still going. Good for me.

  In the moment that I met her, the morning that followed, and the amazing speed of our nexus over the next several months combined with a string of synchronicities (Coincidences? Did I mention that she too, was a poet and writer?) that not only came after I met her on the sidewalk in front of the publisher we shared, but in those pieces I had written before and in several after; I was pretty much convinced I had actually found her. I have NEVER experienced anything like this, or her, in my entire life.

  So, after all this time, here she was … and there wasn't a damn thing that I could do about it. Besides, she was much younger than I and it probably would never have worked anyways. Damn, the universe is rotten sometimes, huh? Maybe, if I'm lucky, things will balance out better in the next life. I can only hope. But I'm reminded, worryingly so, of the Kill The Alarm song: “Collide”:

“All of these thoughts pounding in my head …
with the words I've wrote, in the letters I've never sent.
The distance in our lives may change …
Times that you can never erase …
But will our worlds collide?
Will our worlds collide, the next time?”

* *

  Only time will tell.


  “Colors”, and a few others, were written about/for her. But, I could never show them to her. I would never endanger my friendship with her. I just wanted to keep her in my life. That, and that alone, was the only motive I'd ever had with her. I looked forward to seeing her marry, hearing her stories of her three kid's adventures; Hubby, all greasy, working on the car in the driveway, rabbits in her garden at night, eating her precious organic veggies or even about her new curtains. Just to know that she was alive, happy and doing well. I found a solace in her voice I could never describe and I was completely content to just have her in my life and watch hers unfold. Only I could end up in this odd position.

  I feared that she might get weird-ed out because I'd never displayed any romantic inklings toward her, so, to suddenly read these might make her feel a bit, lets say: uncomfortable. Actually, I didn't write them with any romantic intentions, per se; I just did what I always do … write what comes out. Still, there's no denying that they come across romantic. Again, so, so Charlie Brown. (long sigh)
  It is what it is. I also have to ponder the fact that maybe all those Charlie Brown moments in my life were preparing me for this one big, painful one. That does makes sense … Fuckin' Universe.


Well when you're Green, I'll be your Brown.
Like the earth that loves the flowers,
I'll will be your solid ground.

And I'll be your Azure, when you are Verdigris.
We'll be thee most beautiful ocean
that eyes have ever seen.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
Mixing all of the colors … I'll make everything alright.

Now when you're Blue, I'll be you're Red.
If something should make you wanna cry,
I will feel your pain instead.

And I'll be your Orange, whenever you are Pink.
We'll be thee most amazing sunset,
that the sky could ever ink.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … and make everything alright.

Should you be Violet, I will be your Beige.
Like a sleepy moonlit desert,
pasteled in dunes and sage.

And when you're Grey, I will be your Rainbow.
We'll be thee most soothing rainstorm
the world has ever known.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … yes, I'll make everything alright.

With love on my palette, painting a glorious sunrise …
I'll color all your mornings with a smile and brighten up your skies.
If you should find yourself in sorrow from someones hate or lies …
I'll take the stars down from the heavens … and paint them in your eyes.

So whenever you are Black, I will always be your White.
I'll mix all your colors with a promise … everything will be alright.

Yes, I'll mix all of your colors with a promise … Everything's gonna be alright.

~  Winter 2012

  I wrote this after she had rang me up one afternoon lamenting about her life at the moment, troubled that her latest novel hadn't done as well as she'd hoped and now she had to be waitressing to make ends meet. I tried my best to cheer her up and assured her that she was strong enough to handle anything and that she must keep chasing her dreams. I wrote it as a poem, but I can't help but notice it looks like a song, though I've never heard music for it. Those repeated verses look just like choruses to me.

  Earlier in the day, I had been looking at a booklet of paint swatches. I guess, up there on my roof looking at the Manhattan skyline, her sadness and me looking at all those colors melted together somehow and, as happens, out came this piece. Even this, became another synchronicity as she would name her next novel “Show Me All Your Colors”. I remember seeing it in the bookstore and looking straight up … shaking my head at the sky. Was this the universe telling me to show and tell her all this?

  Well, if it was, I stuck with my gut and kept it to myself. My God, if you only knew how many of these synchronicities there were between her and I. It simply boggles my mind. I wanted to call them “coincidences”, but there were just so damn many of them … Each so unique, they just couldn't be called that. I don't want to tell them all here, because like I said, the more you swear to it, the crazier you sound. And I'm sure your questioning my sanity by now, aren't you? (Smirk)

  OK, OK … this one is definitely romantic. I wrote it one night, drunk to the bejeezus. I'd done what we called “The Crosstown Crawl” with my pal Tristan and a gaggle of assorted waitresses we knew. This involved starting at Brass Monkey on the west side highway in the Gansevoort District and ending at my favorite hookah bar, Karma, on the Lower East Side … Drinking in, and often being “asked to leave” (Read: Kicked out of) every bar that took our interest as we walked (Read: staggered) west to east, staying below 14th St.

  On my way home from the city on the J train, I thought about all the phone conversations we'd had while I was on this train crossing the Williamsburg Bridge. Being drunk, I guess, I caught a bout of sadness that I'd never get to tell her any of this or even how I felt about it all. Before I hit my elevator, this piece was swimming in my head. It's about as mushy a piece as I've ever written … if not thee most! Not the norm for me, but this is, after all, a lot to keep pent up inside you. I wouldn't wish this predicament on anyone.

For My Little Red-Haired Girl …

You …

My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.

My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.

My Opium.
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.

My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.

My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.

My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.

My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.

The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.

In a different time ...

You … would have been my Life.

You … would have been my World.

You … would have been my Everything

and I will always love you for my own special reasons.

It is just a shame … and I'm so, so sorry … that you … must never, ever know.

Maybe next time.

~Charlie Brown

   When I came-to in the morning and read what I had wrote, I had to laugh a bit. It is borderline corny, very beautiful, very telling and very sad … all at once. I shook my head, laughing and told myself :

  “God Damn, Sam … yer losin' it. Get your shit together, will ya?”

  I guess in my stupor, I was imagining what it would have been like to write something for her. I don't know … There it was and I was stuck with it. I almost deleted it, but, my finger wouldn't press the key. As I told you before … I'd NEVER show this to her. She'd probably never speak to me again.

   As a sadder epilogue, that eventually happened. I still don't know why, but we haven't spoken in years. Maybe she sensed this emotion in me and ran away. Or maybe, just maybe … she thought I'd pushed her away somehow … but for whatever reason, we drifted apart. I guess I'll never know.  As you can see by reading this, that was never my intention. But, like I keep reiterating … It is what it is.

  One day, I called her number to catch up and shoot the breeze. I hadn't spoken to her in a few months as she'd been busy promoting her new novel and I didn't want to pester her. But … it was disconnected … I checked my emails … nothing. I'd never been so confused, she just closed me out. I didn't want to bother her. I was sure she had her reasons and if she wanted to reach out to me again, she would. She had my email and my phone number. But, for now … she was gone … and that was that.

  So, what do you think, Reader? Do I get the Tin hat … or a Badge of courage? Am I bat-shit crazy … or just eccentric? I'll leave it up to you to decide, because as I said, this all happened to me and there isn't a thing I can do about any of it. I just had to get it off of my chest. Thanks for letting me vent.

  Wherever she is … she will always mean the world to me. I can see her eyes if I close my mine and look for them. Sometimes, on occasion, her face haunts my sleep. Still, I like to picture her, kids playing in a sprinkler behind her and tearing up the lawn, while digging in her garden, wearing gloves too big for her hands and a smudge of fresh dirt on her cheek … it makes me smile.

-Sam Webster
Brooklyn, New York
OK, you can stop scratching your head. I'm sorry if you feel like I tricked you or was playing a prank … That was not my intention. This piece is experimental writing, of sorts. If you are wondering, it's titled “Somewhere … Out There”. But I didn't want to put a title at the head of the page, as that might have clued you in too early.

I also confess that “Sam” the narrator is, on no uncertain terms, based loosely on myself. But hey, what better way to string you along? Besides, as Stephen King said, you “Write what you know”. As far as I 'm aware, using poetry within a short story like this, or in this manner, has never been done before. Welcome to the future!

It really belongs in my “From Thee Edge” Collection with the rest of my Twilight-Zone-esque short stories. (Not online for now. Sorry) But, because I pieced together several of my poems to not only tell the story, but as a vehicle to carry it along as part of it; I wanted to put it here on Hello Poetry just to see if I could convince you long enough to get you through the story … while having you believe it was me speaking to you and that it was all very real to me. Thus, making it feel real to you as you read it.

Was I having you along right up until it was signed by someone else? Or, at least until the narrator addressed himself as “Sam”?

If so, then I accomplished my mission. I'd love to hear your comments on it. If you've been reading any of my other posts,, I'm sure you've figured out that I like to run wildly outside of the box sometimes. This was just, as I said, an experiment in a different way to tell a story … fiction or otherwise. As always, I hope that I took you on a journey and, more importantly, that you enjoyed it.

~Jeff Gaines
(Lower Alabama)
" I don't care if it's a joke in your eyes." She said with no hesitancy and a certain sharpness in her voice. Her softness faded and boldness came over. Her stare was razor sharp as though she could kill someone but it was also disciplined more than impulsive. It wasn't rage, it was fire; fierce and courageous that l hadn't ever seen her dress in. She looked intimidating but strong. She looked daunting but fearless. "There is a limit to jokes, I do joke around and it is fun to a certain point. But there are words and actions I will not tolerate and that is my personal choice. My boundary. I don't care if I love you or if you are my friend. I don't care if you are the closest person to me or the farthest. I will not let your actions or words compromise on my self respect anymore. It is my self value that I stand by. Your actions, words do not define me. The way you treat me does not bring down my worth and neither does it matter to me anymore. I am not a reflection of who you treat me. I know who I am now, I know what I stand by. I am not afraid of losing you or afraid to be seen as a person who overreacts" She stepped in closer, sending a shiver down their spine. "This is my self respect, value, and boundary - accept it or leave"
astrid Feb 6
If I were to tell about rainbows, our story would be a better topic than any other children's stories. Funny how these mere colors affect me with the rain's every finish, seeing myself searching for its presence as I close my umbrella, lift my chin up and play it all in my head again. The way you loved every color it had, and the amount of your affection for its rarity. Never thought such gay colors would bring memories as the sky gets clear, and everything turned gritty.

Red. Red is the color of roses you gave me. I remember how passionate, sweet and warm you were. Your love was not something hidden nor written; it was something felt, felt within every pixel of the thousands of photos of us. Evident were your eyes that would light up but it burned my skin like a matchstick, while I’m hoping that you’ll stay forever. I felt it within every sweet letter, filled with promises of 'see you later'. Felt with your sweet melting glance. Along with every bundle of nerves during our first dance. Felt with every lasting memory of our written story.
Not until the last red roses were delivered and your love began to wither. Our photos turned to you and her. Then written on your sweet letter said, “You can find someone better.” And your glance that became the last, witnessed me asking for another chance.

Instead of fresh rose petals, you brought a basket of oranges when you visited me in the hospital. I was sick as a kid but I miss you that I wanted to plead. I wanted to tell you how my heart bleeds and you're the medicine it needs.
But what can I do as she wrapped her hand around yours? What can I do seeing her finger perfectly mold for a diamond ring? Knowing that she's not just a fling. Both of you even greeted me with a smile. I was left all alone with my sighs. I kept the pain inside, even if it means I lied because I want to be your bride. How could I make you stay and that someday you'll realize it's me you want to embrace? But reality knocks me down. I'll have to wear a gown. Drink a glass of wine on your wedding day. Pretend that after a year or two, I am now okay.

All I know, the sun's yellow rays are festive and shout joy. They hit my bare skin through the curtains as I wake up. I greeted myself with "I only had my pillows beside me" instead of a 'Good morning' that you conventionally whisper to my ears, making my heart hop. I was too convinced you left early for an urgent call, but the yellow note says otherwise. Sticked to my bedroom door, it said "Meet me at 11 am on a cafe", and again, I read it thrice. Instead of notes, you leave me hugs which are nice but that was way before my heavy cries.

With mixed feelings, I opened my closet. I curtly picked my favorite dress, a green one. It is my favorite color. Emerald green to be specific, and tied my hair to a bun. I want to surprise you with a plain girl all gone - had a prep for my only one. That as I enter the cafe, everything will be invisible to your perspective and focus to your only one.
I added lipstick and a pink blush for me again to stand out. I had to erase all my doubts and be the girl you wanted all throughout.

And at ten-thirty, I rode the bus. The skies were blue but they're in brights. People were busy crossing with their heavy suitcases and all might. I remembered you again, and how I gifted you every suitcase that fed your sight.
Uncertain of all the possibilities today, I plastered my face with delight. But what do you mean 'talk'? Something serious? A wedding plan? An engagement? Or just a sip of chat?
The blue walls of the cafe welcomed my path with the aroma of coffee all along. Your eyes didn't look cheery but I didn't mind. Your smile didn't beam at me as it did before, but I didn't mind. You told me to order alone in the counter, but I still didn't mind. At this moment, my senses were frightened and my eyes were holding back everything that might flow.
"All of these were in a bind," you said, and gave me a letter, again, in a yellow colored paper. There might be someone else who dressed better, who cuddled tighter, who made your heart lighter. It said, 'Sorry, I fell out of love, you can find someone better'.

I was dressed with a finely embroidered violet gown, carefully hand-made with tears, surrounded by despair and finished with grief. On your wedding day, I tried to look nice and perfect. So that my unbearable sadness wouldn’t reflect. Then again as I slowly watch you smile as she walks down the aisle; I can’t help not to cry. I am no longer asking why. Violet perfectly describes gloom but perfectly makes you bloom. I realized that I shouldn’t mourn over your union but over the years of my devastation. I realized that it’s useless to weep and to sleep with the pain because it would remain. For it’s time to let you go. Accept that everyone come and go. More importantly free myself from your attachment even if it means shattering my heart into smaller fragments.

--- written with zhari
Firemind Feb 5
Leo was watching the slow downward spiral of a date across the room. A charming young lady had been subjected to her date’s lewd advances for the last half an hour. She fidgeted, eyes darting around the room for an escape. As smoke drifted hazily through the café, Leo lethargically sipped his coffee. Sunk into his chair, and content in his passivity, he was rudely plunged back into the room by the clang of metal on concrete.

     A woman in her mid-30’s, dressed so sharp she could cut a diamond, had made her way through the door.  She was followed by a twitching mass of metal and wire, with a life of its own.  Feigning obliviousness to the eyes upon her, the woman made her way to a table. She sat, adjusted her shirt, and brushed away the non-existent debris from her lap. The robot, with the demeanor of a puppy, followed tentatively. Leo noted its scrappily humanoid silhouette. Though it had a torso and limbs, the screen in place of a head was mildly disconcerting. The automaton’s jerky movements, and the occasional emoji that found its way to the machine's display did nothing to help.

     As the robot took a seat opposing the woman, a smiling ideogram flashed upon its face. Locking eyes with the screen, its guardian beamed with pride. A server approached the curious duo, bemused and intrigued. The robot, still broadcasting it’s smile, watched attentively as the server took the woman’s order. Leo saw lips move, but could not make out the words. As the server scribbled in her notepad, the officiary gestured her hands to the robot, inviting it to follow suit. Bouncing enthusiastically in its expectedly jerky manner, the robot turned to face the server, blocking Leo’s view of its screen.

     The din of the café had risen since the initial lull of excitement. The low hum of chatter now permeated the room. Though Leo could not hear it, it seemed as though the machine was speaking with the server. The server looked at the robot as an adult looks at a child, nodding and mirroring it’s artificial smile. As the server scribbled again, and the robot returned to face its handler, Leo caught a glimpse of a cake on its monitor. As the server retreated to the kitchen, a back and forth between the two strangers commenced, with the woman teaching the robot the intricacies of cutlery, and appropriate dining etiquette. The human shaped mass picked up forks and salt shakers, in a clumsy recreation of its guardian’s behavior.

     Leo found himself staring. He caught the woman’s eye, and flushed. She smirked with self-importance. Guiltily averting his gaze, Leo plunged himself back into his coffee. He awkwardly returned his scrutiny to the young couple, who had resumed their unrequited dance. The young man had become increasingly heavy handed. Reaching for the clearly uncomfortable girl’s face, the young man flashed a wink, and a wicked look. The girl shrunk into herself as his hand stroked her face. Feeling unnerved yet again, Leo looked away. He noticed the robot was watching this grotesque behavior intently, a confused emoji suffusing it’s face. The robot glanced intermittently between the couple and his mistress, before attempting the manoeuvre himself. The woman, previously engaged in her meal, jolted at the steely caress, causing a crash of cutlery and glass. The whole café turned. A winking face from the robot caused Leo to sigh. We imbue our creations with our own crassness, he thought.

      Now standing at a safe distance, the metal man’s warden kneaded her fingers into her forehead. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a small remote, and greeted the robot’s familiar smile with the press of a button. White noise flickered on the simulacrum’s screen. With a metallic creak the robot fell limp. It was now the sharp-dressed woman’s turn to sigh. Leo, absorbed in the day’s events, looked to where the young couple sat. He now saw the young man, jaw agape, with an empty seat beside him. The blossoming youth had used the opportunity to make her escape. The suited woman however was trapped with her now useless hunk of metal. Leo watched as she took out her phone, and begun to pace irritably back and forth. He could see the frustration on her face as she gesticulated wildly to the recipient of the call. Leo decided now was the time to leave. Parting with a generous tip, he took up his coat. With Purpose, Leo walked out of the café, as two imposing men in black suits brushed past his sides...
Just a short writing assignment for university. I had to write a 750(ish) word assignment using no dialogue. It's not a poem, but I'm not sure where else to post this.
Beatrix B Feb 4
I met a girl.
Her name was Emily.
She had a butterfly on her finger.
Emily loved butterflies.
That's the first thing she told me.
"I love butterflies!" - Emily said.
Now I love butterflies too.
how love works.
helena alexis Dec 2017
i sighed and walked up to the counter
to order my food while i was finally
on my break after working for 2 hours
i told my manager what i wanted and he
handed me a number

“why’d you hand me a number?” i asked,
confused because usually we don’t do that

“i’m gonna have riley bring out your food to you” he said with a small smirk
i rolled my eyes
as if that’s going to happen
i thought and sat down at a nearby booth

as i was waiting for my food I glanced at my phone scrolling through social media

until i saw you walking towards me with my food you were smiling and laughing while i was a blushing embarrassed mess

“he really made you do it?!” i blushed as you chuckled

“here you go” you handed me my food with a huge smile on your face as i thanked you while you walked away i couldn’t believe it

i kept looking over at you and blushing
everyone knows now including my manager
so this happened at work today
Samuel Adafia Nov 2017
The sun blazed and caused a significant amount of precipitation to ooze out of my skin. The woman who sat next to me filled  space enough for two but paid for one. Me, the unfortunate one who sat close to her was praying that no one else boards this atrocity of a  public transport vehicle. The sweat on our skins made our contact uncomfortably more intimate than it was required for two strangers. It made my skin curl with disgust.
The little old lady stood at the bus stop with a silver wash basin half filled with her catch, fish. She signalled and the trotro staggered to a stop.
Galbraith Frase Oct 2017
"Annie, can you get me another box?"

Anastasia's Mother sneers, finishing her last stick. Sure she heard it, that's why she's running up the stairs to their old town house's roofs.

There, she saw the Mother of her life, stood moderately at the edge. Although her Mom looked homeless, with messy hair and wearing cheap clothes, Anastasia still thinks she's beautiful. From her Mother's pale and dark shaded lips, the picture of her habitual smoking and to the bags of her eyes. Anastasia saw sorrow and humiliation.

"Another box? But isn't that the third one this week?" She questioned. The concerned girl stared at her wasted Mother who just huffed at the moment.

"Just do it, baby." Her Mother commanded. A sigh escaping from Anastasia's mouth as she nodded in full obedience.

"Alright, Mother."

She walked down the steps again, reaching out for money from her own wallet as she headed out.

The wind is pretty frisky this day. The cold air fogging up the populated skies as its getting darker in the entry of the night. The breezy air is tugging at her skin, hugging her petite body. She doesn't have any thick clothing or a layer, nor a jacket to support her now shivering body.

She went to quickened her walking, knowing that her Mother won't be staying up the roofs sooner and the cold air is truly bothering her.

Finally arriving at her station, she entered the shop and she went straight to the counter.

"A box of Marlboro reds, please." Anastasia half smiled, waiting for the counter guy to get one. Once handed, she waited for her change as a boy around her age went beside her.

"A pack of Camel light, please." The boy with raven locks said.

"One-second sir."

She stays patient. She went to look at the boy beside her again, only seeing him looking at her box then to her. She decided to brush it off as her change is handed to her. Anastasia exited the shop to only find that the skies had turned darker.

She turned her heels to the same path to their home as she went straight back to the house.

■ ■

"Don't tell him a single detail about me." Anastasia's Mother said sternly.

"I'll see you soon, Mother." She replied. As soon as she has the chance to leave, she quickly did.

Walking out the door, she pulls a cigarette out from a pack that she got from her Mother's. She calmly lights it up, though she makes sure that she's going to the right path to the Boat Station.

That night, last night, her Father called. Her Father told her to come by the Ocean. She loves things like this, admiring beautiful places at peace and just having deep thoughts about randoms.

Since both of her parents are divorced, Anastasia has to spend her time separately with them. Although her family background is broken, she still believes that quality time is important. Especially when you're the only daughter.

When she arrives, she saw a bunch of males hopped to a Downeast cruiser. She went for another stick of cigarette as she waits for the guys to settle the boat.

Once finished, she sees her Father coming towards her as another man followed him. Seeing her Father smile, she knows that he is happy to see her, happy that her daughter finally visited him again.

"My dear, sunshine." Her Father greeted with the widest smile ever. As they both embrace each other, she reassembles herself and stared to her Father's features.

He didn't change much. Twenty percent of his beard had grown, his skin also went tanner and his noticeable bags underneath his grey eyes is an evidence that he has been working hard these days.

And she felt her heart spun a bit, it's not breaking but it's pinching with joy.

"I've missed you, Father." She spoke, voice cracking and eyes glistening.

Her Father went to cup his daughter's cheeks with both hands and smiled. She felt the warmth and the love to her one and only man, and that is her Dad.

"My apologies. Anastasia, this is Captain Adamson, he's our new lead sailor." Her Father added as he introduced the man beside him.

"Please to meet you, young lady."

"You too, Sir."

She looked up to Captain Adamson, he has the same features like her Father's. Same dry skin, oceanic eyes, firm and sturdy smile and just a typical sailor could be.

After a little talk, Captain Adamson and her Dad motioned her to get to the boat. Once lifted and settled, she saw old men and only men in the small place. She counted them, and in her calculations, they're about six or seven. But something spotted her eye...

A young boy, around her age probably, is one of the sailors. It surprises her a bit because she once thought earlier, she was the only youngster around here. But yet, she's wrong, but was she glad?

Feeling their boat move, she went over the edge as she let her body sway from her moving grounds. It was sure such a wonderful relief when they finally made it to the water.

She went to ignore the people around her as she decided to be alone at this moment.

At the edge, she swam through her thoughts. Deep ones like the ocean whom about twelve feet fall.

She thinks that what if the ocean is harmful, a violence and tolerant to other people. Like when you fall, you have nothing to do but to drown through the steep and heavy surface. Although its water, she can still think its a huge burden to anyone's bodies.

Her fears hugged her, her anxiety embraced her as she thinks of this. It made her shiver, not just from the wind but also to the awful life she has. It made her cringe once, now she'll cringe forever.

Grabbing another stick from the box, lighting it up as she blows one. She let the tobacco smoke combines with the coastal air, she watches it and she somehow feels satisfied.

Tapping her right shoe in a tune, she also hummed the unspoken lyrics, feeling the rhythm. She sips and blows, sips and blows, again and again. It doesn't seem to end, though her Father has its rules. Nothing she heavily worries about because she knew its always a mild segment.

After the stick has reached its filter, she flickers the used cigarette from the running waters as she lets out a sigh.

Casting a shadow beside her, she sees the youngster staring at her with an unexplainable look. He eyes her up and down in a respectful way as Annie didn't make a single move.

"You know, a filter can destroy the ocean too." The boy speaks. Anastasia shrugged her shoulders as she grabs another stick.

"So." She coldly said, though the boy sort of expected this coming.

"So its trash, it's not good." She rolled her eyes to the boy. A silly conversation about Nature isn't the right mood for the day today.

"Nope. I am trash." She chuckled like she's some kind of a joker telling puns whenever.

"I like that, Miss. My name's Keith Adamson, the--

"The Captain's son, I get it." She finished the boy's statement as a small smile form on her face.

"You do?" He questioned, playing it all in.

"Yeah, that's why you're so talkative about the waters." She shrugged again.

"Right, but I'm sure I've seen you before." The boy guessed and it clicked her head quickly.

"From the convenient store?" She grinned, making Keith nod in agreement.

There was a moment of silence in between them, did she care nor did she thinks its awkward? No. She went to lift her box from her pocket and motioned the youngster beside her. In her surprise, he gladly took one as she offers a lighter.

"So, Daddy sailor business?" Keith asks, giving Annie a small nudge.

"Not really, are you often around here?"

"You can say that. But why did you come here?"

"I don't think you deserve to know."

Anastasia's smile turned into a smirk, feeling her words with power. What does she call it? Sarcasm? Probably, but therefore, it's just the based truth.

"Feisty. Just so you know, I only come here to help my Father. Sailing sucks but I enjoy the ocean, a lot." Keith babbled as it made her nod her head.

"Me too, but not when you're in it." Her voice went weak as she feels her whole body become numb.



Just heavy, all are heavy.

"What do you mean?" The boy asked again. She knew she wanted to tell him but she respects her own privacy. Maybe she can, in a more intellectual way.

"Like the waves, they're a big struggle in a person's body. When you drown, you drown, why keep convincing yourself to dive up when you know its already too late?"

At this moment, she thinks about her Mother, her Father, and just the tree family she used to be in. The happy, normal and complete people, she misses that. Their silly moments and the happy memories, she wants it all back. Now that its ruined, damaged, broken, well name it. She still thinks she's contented. Why? Whatever god knows why.

"The waters are so much sweeter if the waves wouldn't step further like a hurricane, you know?" She smiled again. She then turned to her right, she sees her new friend with a confused expression.

"Wow, too deep to understand aye."

The both of them started laughing. At some thoughts, she's glad that she met Keith. He's so much more, She thinks he's more of a something.

"Everyone, get ready to sail!" A sailor's voice rung around the companied boat as they both of them got alarmed.

"Ready to fight the waves, Anastasia?"

"How'd you know my name, little sailor boy?"

Anastasia is not surprised that Keith knew her name. Many conclusions collided to her head but one resulted among them all.

"May I point whom your Father is?"

Without second thoughts, she nods her head. And she knows for sure, that she's ready to fight the waves.
Just a short story telling :)

[ Wattpad: @galbraithfrase ]
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