The worst things in life come free to us

The fun had worn off, the laughs faded, the anger rising- she left before they would wake and it would be noticed. Dark hazy eyes, misled by what was thought to be a light. Morning, but hours before the sun would climb. Slammed gates, barefoot, purple sports bra and black shorts just above mid thigh storming towards the sea. Those two songs on replay in her mind, the past not lingering too far behind, grace drowning without an offer. Quiet mumbles and shuffling feet, innocent shells fiercely sent into the unknown, assailing waves crashing as she. Gravity as well as everything else keeping her down. She was having one of those uncontrollable fights with herself.. the raging, tear wrought thoughts clawing to break free and doing as they pleased. Composing herself for just a moment as the giddy group stumbled by. Sand clenched in both fists, teeth gritting, hair loosening, eyes bared. The eyes. Unsightly and startling but the true window to her soul. The pier about a mile off to the left, she started. A pen and paper could do no justice this time. Throwing the blame as far away as she could but knowing where it truly lie. Shells and rocks bruising her feet unnoted for the night, the slap of wet sand beneath her, the wind whistling without a care. At less than arms length from the salt worn stalks of wood carrying the weight of the pier, she stopped. Anger fading now, giving in. She surrendered to the pier, collapsing with her back against the third one from the shore, accepting that time would always be her opponent and it would always win. It could changed as it pleased from slow to fast, it could make one happy and make one sad, it could build bridges and burn them too, and it did everything with a sense of cruel pleasure.

Everything starts with a white blank page

Remembering the sound of her laugh when he would tell jokes, the flat line gave up and cracked a bit. Her heart still cringed from time to time, every so often her pillows were soaked by the night, and every night her mind was restless and being invaded by the memories. It has been awhile, hasn't it? She remembered the first time she saw him.. and the last, nostalgia was controlling her today- he would of been 21 yesterday. Though the scene wasn't of a fairy tale, the love was. She remembered the sky like eyes staring through her like none before, the unwavering look, the resolute presence. Comforting and still. He was wearing a grey jacket that was only zipped halfway showing his chest, fitting khaki cargos that lie just at his knees, a grey pair of Converse. She noticed his skin stained. One read, Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, another read, Keep the faith, and the last visible one read, And in time this too shall pass. She knew he had stories, she knew he had strength, she knew he was deep and those were things anyone could of told you if they looked long enough. He raised after finished, tucked the chords into his jacket, retrieved a piece of blank copy paper and a black marker that was drying out, wrote his number and short name along with a winky face, crumbled the paper up and threw it at her.. he had always been a writer. He threw his head back and released a boyish smirk when she caught it, as if he was waiting for someone who could hold on to what he had to say. Later she would learn that he wasn't going to be here for long whether it was one thing or another. I wish he was here. He would know what to do. Actually, if he was here the situation wouldn't even exist. I wouldn't want anyone else. Why? I don't know if I can take another one. She knew this feeling before, she cherished this feeling before, she lived to feel this feeling before. Every morning wake to a 'good morning', every night drift from a 'good night'. The last time it had ended faster than she could say goodbye and was more heart wrenching than anything she had felt before. Fearful, restless still. I wish that I hadn't caught that piece of paper, I wish I would have been late to that appointment, I wish I didn't look straight into people's eyes the first time I saw them. It sure would have saved some trouble. That wasn't true in the slightest. She loved every waking moment next to him and every moment she dreamt of him. Every time he grasped her left hand, every time he looked straight into her eyes, every time he traced her figure, every innocent kiss, every time they melted plastic silverware, every breath, everything. Gone, not forgotten. It was bittersweet and raging, she knew from the start that he wouldn't be here for long and that wasn't even what took him away. She had learned from him and what she learned followed her around more than the nostalgia lingering in her every footstep. She had trusted her heart and her seas did catch fire, she was trying to keep the faith and that saying never quite seemed to go away, and she knew that time along with everything else would pass. He would always be with her just because he never left by choice, someone else took him away but it was time. Time to take a step back, time to restart, time to let go. She didn't think it was possible but if there had been one thing she had learned over the last year it was that anything was possible. For better or worse. The off week had done anything but given her mind a break. It relentlessly reminded her of love and loss, of the light and dark, and most of all.. the things she longed for but couldn't have. She had never been the wanting type, never the greedy one, but when that little annoying burn in her heart said she needed something, all else was put to the side and all focus was placed on what that one thing was. She spent the last 13 months thinking all love does was break and burn and end but soon she would watch it begin again. One once told her that beauty is coming, and it is.

I was told to 'regret less'

I've watched the sun rise and the sun set, I've seen the clouds hover above me and have felt the breeze sweep me off my feet, I've watched the moon hold steady and disappear with the stars, I've endured. I've endured but I've watched the law become true over and over again.. what goes up must come down.

She sat there locked away in a closet in the far of the condo with her best friend. They lie up against the wall both lost in thought.. or just lost. He was thinking of the girl in Tennessee and she had a block in her head that wouldn't let her think of anything else. Small talk here and there about the day, exasperated sighs about the relevant song that was playing, and the room filling with random thoughts that tried to squeeze their way in. The bottles of liquor lined up as if any amount could wash away the thoughts clawing at her mind. They were ever so present, and now more vibrant than before. She had gone through almost half of whatever was in the clear bottle and though the thoughts were fewer and the laughs were less painful, there was no escape. It was the start of something new with an abrupt halt. He knew her pain, knew her passions, knew her fears- as did she. Willing to delve the depths, to fight the good fight, to run the same race. Time would now pass slower than it had before, watching the seconds turn into hours, the days turn to years, and the months turn to eternities. She knew it hadn't been for nothing, that the conversations were worth more than the skies, that the thoughts were there for a reason. Her best friend looked at her the night before and said, 'I've never seen you smile as much as you have in the last few hours'. Drowning in the river that was forming from her eyes and mind, bleeding out, the fault lie on the fence between the beauty. Understood, of course. Regretful, not for a second. Wishful, every moment. But she'd be lying through her teeth if she said she was okay. She did that often, told everyone she was okay despite the plentiful pains. What was another goodbye? Another good moment lost at the parting seas? Another smile flat again? Another wish that the dandelion forgot? Another burned piece of wood? The woods were indeed lovely, dark and deep. She would return there soon and wait. Wait for the beauty to come again, wait for the tattered valiant flag of belief to be sewn and carried again, wait to become live again but not leave once whole. Handler had it right, it wasn't the diamonds or the birds, the people or the potatoes, not any of the nouns. The miracle was the adverbs, the way things get done. It is the way love gets done despite every catastrophe.

To whom this may concern

To whom this may concern in the near or very far future:

I cannot promise you anything but myself and that should be enough. I am blunt and hope you are too. That's the only way things will ever get done in this world. I hope you like to read, that's why there's wickedness in the world you know- not enough people read. My sarcasm is a way of life and I can only pray that you know how to take a joke and tell one. I like my jokes like I like my pizza.. the cheesier the better. You should always be able to tell 3 jokes, do 2 card tricks, and recite one poem just in case we're ever stuck in an elevator. If there's a time when I'm being irrational which is often, I hope you have the courage to tell me to shut the hell up. I've never been high maintenance in much besides food and I hate making decisions that require what I want even though I know exactly what I want. It's all on you, sorry for the pressure. You never have to buy me any clothes because I'll probably hate them, but you can buy me socks and hoodies (the loose kind)- I love socks and hoodies. Oh, and sundresses, I love those too. I hope you love the beach and to travel because that's what we'll be doing for a portion of our time whether it's sooner or later.. We've forgotten what it's like to love and be loved at the same time.. until now. I hate the cold and love wearing an oversized hoodie with shorts- hope that's okay. It's quite possible that you have brown hair and blue eyes, just saying. Oh, and you might have some tattoos too. I'm psychic, I know. I've never been a fan of doing what society wants me to do, I'll tell you how I feel when you really want to know, tell you where to go and how to get there, and I'll do something completely unexpected and spontaneous every so often to keep you on your toes. I hope you have all your toes. I believe waking up next to you in the morning with Regina Spektor sounding would be rather perfect, don't ya think? Something's gotta make mornings worth it, nevermind that, you'll make them worth it. I hope you can look me in the eyes and see something more without me having to tell you. I hope that we can sit across from each other in silence and be comfortable but more than that, I hope we can be obnoxious and ostentatious around each other too. We'll be one of those couples that people either absolutely love us of cringe at our site because we're so damn perfect for each other. I dream of a day in which we sit and talk the entire time about every aspect of the universe from why donuts are so delicious to the existence of God and why He most likely hates us. If you can write, draw, and play music you probably already stole my heart. Kudos to you though, if you stole my heart you had to find it first. I hid it awhile back in a place so far away from the world. You probably did that with your heart too, I'm a sucker for that. I hope you're never afraid to shed a tear, we'll both be rocks who claim indifference but we'll know each other better than that. I'm afraid of dying, aren't we all? Seriously though, the possibility of nothing scares the living hell out of me. All we've ever known is life, sure we've lie lodged before but not dead. I want to leave the world like this though- laying in the bed, eating a Twix, drinking an Arnold Palmer, listening to some band from back when we were young in the background, and reading your favorite book. I'm picky with food and even pickier with the people I actually like. I tend to like either people who are exactly like me or ones that are on a completely different spectrum.. I guess I'll find out which one you are. Besides the fact that everybody in the world should be just like me, ha, I am in no way perfect. I have my flaws and so will you. As long as you don't wear white socks, fanny packs, sound like a cow when you eat, or do anything that society expects, we'll make it. We can dance randomly if you'd like, I think that'd be a fun time. I hope you love sports, too. I refuse to go to any events in which one (including myself) has not the slightest clue of what he is talking about. I am faulty in the sense of double standards at times, aren't we all? Don't correct me on the little shit, that's petty and rather annoying but I'm sure you'll do it anyways because that's the type I fall for. I hope you can spell (I don't mind you mixing up i's and e's next to each other though), if there is a God I hope He blessed you with that ability and I hope you don't mind my overuse of commas and how I only use two ellipses. What would the world do without commas? Or grammar? That's the difference between 'helping your uncle Jack off a horse' and 'helping your uncle jack off a horse'. Serious stuff right there. I hope you're a sore loser, God knows I am. We'll never be able to play a game with each other 'just for fun', nope, not possible. After a few drinks and a few stolen spaces one of us will throw the Scrabble board across the room, it's bound to happen. And then we'll laugh. Let's laugh a lot, shall we? Well, when you read this we'll probably be next to each other and I'll be impatiently waiting because it's quite possible that I've already interrupted you four times or that you're an awfully slow reader but that's besides the point. Still wondering if I've met you yet.

Onward and upward,
B


Trust your heart of the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backwards.

The windows rattle without you

He felt lodged, exhaling bourbon with his left calf resting on his right quad. Breaking from the obnoxious repetition of the usual scene with those he barely knew. Wearing a worn pair of cargos, sandals, and a button up that kept its form despite its meeting with the corner of his dresser drawer, appearing in a blank stare but nothing was true of the sort. Something inspired by Nabokov stained his forearm. Reminiscing, observing, noting. Whenever he wasn't sure of an idea or situation he rubbed the palm of his right roughly against his nose as if it would present clarity. It was morning, but hours before the sun would climb. His eyes were seemingly lost, starting to take on a redish colour as the eye of Jupiter, lids falling. Deft hands doodling a series of shaded circles, curved lines, and zags into an animal or a person perhaps. Staring through a random, his gaze focused on what seemed familiar in the background. Brunette as unconsciously preferred, she reminded him of another. She felt like a collection of black and white pictures and the sound of a '96 rock band from London from across the room. Not able, but soon.

The catastrophe and the cure

The situation was like playing a baseball game and being in the hole with two outs. Not sure whether to  keep your helmet and batting gloves on preparing to go on deck or grab your glove ready to hit the field. You had to pick one and hope that your decision was right. Your teammate either got out or got on and either way you weren't fully prepared. It all depended on one person. 

It was just before noon, the trees through the window were swaying violently and time was passing ever so slowly. She was in an awkward yet comfortable position on her bed with her knees propping up her Mac and her back sloppily leaning against two pillows covered in dark cases. She sat like this often. Her room was a deep grey blue and there was only one small light present. A few guitars were scattered, there were some book shelves, the fish Pedro was being spastic as usual, a muted television set across from her, some foreign artist was sounding from one of her many playlists, and a pile of hoodies and shorts lie lethargically on the floor. It was a frequent scene but never monotonous. The day was just as she preferred- there was an overcast, it was cool, windy, and quiet. The fact that the day was calm was overwhelming in a sense, for the last few years things had been more than hectic and a calm day with no bothers was never something she complained about or expected. 

She sat there writing, just wondering about how she got where she was. Where the page was turned, when the clocks had made their runs, who said to flip the switch, and why some filters were flying and others were burning. Maybe she was imagining it all, maybe it was just the course of life someone else had picked out for her. Getting away however, was on the top of her to do list. She dreamed of Amsterdam or somewhere with a city that never slept, just something different. Along her forced wager she forgot who she was and what she stood for but she was okay with that for now. They say to never be content with anything in life but she was content, at least in this moment. She was a quiet being with a loud soul, a storm cloud and a bass drum. Never announcing her presence but you knew she was there. She had come to the point where she cared too much and now claimed indifference, she enjoyed the simple things like talking to people and finding out their stories or letting the whispers of the leaves caress her face. A simple life with experiences was all she asked for, who knew it would be difficult. 

How did she get here? To this point where absolutely nothing mattered. Was it everything, just parts, or one event? How would she get out? There had to be a way. She had never been like the rest, never gave thought to what others thought about her, never gave in to being like everyone else, never sought the in-crowd, she just slid through the cracks and kept her life to herself. They say the ones who are different are the ones who make it, but really I just think those are the ones who see truth. Her life hadn't even started and yet she felt like she had lived a few lives. 

There was a knock on the door, a soft but impatient knock. Irritated because it was most likely a random trying to sell her some unwanted magazine of some sort, she got up wearing an oversized grey hoodie and her favorite pair of shorts. The person at the door was anything but a random. She stared through the blinds and released a sigh that was long overdue. That god-awful lump in her throat only got bigger as she pressed her forehead against the door before opening it. 

The catastrophe and the cure stood before her.