Asphalt

Your life has been nothing but being laid down and run over
You used to be a soft and pure mixture and through time you've changed
You've one of the hardest surfaces with many grooves and cracks
You lie on your back and look up while all else moves on and passes through
You run all over the world, connecting and disconnecting at certain places
You detour often into the most wondrous of places
You come back and swear you won't detour again
You carry the most royal of weights
You're painted with lines that tell your story, where to go, and where you've been
You are asphalt

The hole

She peered over the stone cold ledge of the feldspar balcony as the newly birthed wind trained through the waves of her hair- debating whether or not to go before the rain hit. The sun was masked in a combination of thick fog and ominous grey nimbus clouds, it was just morning. Already in the sleek wetsuit with her mind made up, she trotted down the spiral staircase that led to the planked back porch of the two story house. Freshly waxed 6'4'' lime green edged in yellow and red Rusty quickly leashed to her left ankle and rightly placed horizontally under her arm as if it was an every day routine.

Unlocking the waist high latch of the outward swinging gate, she started towards the 'hole', nobody ever went there and it was just off the reef- she expected good sets. She watched the unrelenting drops burst from the masses in the horizon into the ever besieging sea with no intentions of being apopemptic nearing, but not denting her decision. The unceasing sea had been the only thing that could ever pull every ounce of her soul out in one shot. She always tried for morning rides, it was easier to ace and let free. The backwash from the previous waves welcomed her tan blank feet in a more seductive way than anything she'd ever known and she let the series of small swells carry her towards the storm. The bitterness would have been uncomfortable for others, the pangs of cold morning February water was a pain she only ever enjoyed.

She hadn't been able to see her feet from the time she starting paddling, an unpredictable and fair act of the ocean she had never preferred but dealt with. It wasn't her territory, she had always been a wanderer. Straddling the board, feet dangling over the sides despite the small conscious fear in the back of her mind. The wind was starting to rise and the small swells were becoming small chops that turned to white dissolving residue, no hope of any good waves anytime soon. She wasn't disappointed, she understood the way the sea worked, the way it did as it pleased. There wasn't one person in sight.

An overwhelming gust pushed through, springing up razor-like spritz of the short lived waves against her face. The sting, the pain, the flood of memories in every tingle. It tasted like June and felt like October. Distracted by the continuous sprays, she hadn't realized that the sky was letting loose. Surrounded by darkness, even in the morning. First instinct would normally be to paddle in, but not this time. Naturally well balanced, she lie with the back of her head on the board, staring straight up into the demon of the sky without a flicker of the eyelids, with her shoulders flat and legs overlapping each other as Zeus cried his violent tears.

The Rusty flipped as did she, the once small swells became enraged, dragging her out and to the bottom of the ocean floor where she could see the armies of aged sand race in circles around her- the salt had never burned her eyes. She let it take her, engulf her without a fight. There had been so much struggle with everything else and it was time to let go. She came out of the wetsuit and undid the leash, knowing they would float to the top. It was pleasant in that moment, life. Pleasant to watch the residue of earth dance before her, pleasant to feel the rush of water run through every part of her flesh, pleasant to taste the salt again. She had lost her saltiness and had no desire to resurface. She closed her eyes, grabbed a fistful of sand, and exhaled one last time. She let down hair for the first.

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.