Musing 007

a longing melancholy

a fluttered aspiration

a sweet breath heavy laden with dreams

a desire tumbling from swollen lips

the reverie evanesces-

yesterday’s dream bereft.

a heart swoons

an inhaled reverie

a tripping heart beat

the rolling tide lands on a new shore.

Flowing 004

Butterfly

Necklace

Coffee

Pastry

Blender

The roar of the blender mixed with the uneven chatter of conversation created a cacophony that overwhelmed my senses. My breath hitched as I tried to numb my surroundings. Did you know that some people have the ability to change the shape of the lens in their eyes, causing their vision to go blurry? Well, I am one of those people. I let the pressure build below my eyes and my view went hazy.

“Extra hot flat white for Sophia, oat milk.” Air filled my lungs again as I breathed in and let everything come back into focus. I hissed through my teeth as my finger burned from the hot contents of the thin paper cup. When heated, the lining of togo cups may give you cancer. I cast the thought aside with a, well we’re all going to die anyways. Why fight the fight?

The malleable plastic lid snapped onto the cup, and I slipped a sleeve around its body to save my fingers. My gaze flickered across the room: the tables were full of people working on laptops and others with friends or lovers chatting away. In a set of leather chairs near the door sat a middle aged woman who was speaking too loudly to the man across from her who was fumbling with his pastry. Crumbs danced down onto his crisply pressed shirt, falling in a impressive display on his dark trousers.

I passed by them as I leaned into the door with my shoulder and the din of cafe was replaced with the hum of the street. Near an arbor covered in some type of flowering, very delightful smelling plant was an empty table with two chairs. I made a move towards it, just as a woman beside by stepped forward at the same time. We both stopped and looked at each other, pausing. Her eyes were the colour of a dark caramel, framed by the longest natural lashes I’ve ever seen. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she smiled at me, “oh, you can sit there. I’ll wait.” 

I was frozen, dazzled. A dimple formed on the right side of her cheek. It caught my attention for several seconds before I realized I hadn’t said anything. 

“It’s ok, you can have it.” I felt as if I were fumbling with my words. Her smile deepened, but neither of us said anything else for several breaths. While still maintaining eye contact, in my periphery I caught sight of her necklace, glinting golden in the sun. I think she saw my attention shift as left hand rose to caress it, slowly. I looked down to it, the tiniest of charms hung on the chain. A 3-dimensional butterfly with delicate little wings.

My gaze lingered another moment, then traveled back to her face. Her smile, dazzling like a thousand gossamer wings in the morning sun. 

“Sit with me?” the dimple returned.

Flowing 003

Hatchet

Blaze

Frustration

Waterfall

Salacious

A figure broke through the trees, shadowed by evergreen boughs heavy and burdened with a solid dusting of snow. Though the crisp air chilled the tip of my nose, the undulating waves of muscle cascading down to the top of his jeans were glistening with a dew of sweat. I bit my lip as I imagined the slick feeling of sliding my fingers down those mountainous abs.

With a dull thud, the substantial log he was carrying dropped on the forest floor. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exertion of the carry, staring at the log. He slowly, oh ever so slowly, lifted his gaze to meet mine. A slow, sly smile swept over his lips. His eyes twinkled, “like what you see?” He ran a hand through his curly locks, “water warm?”

I shrunk further down in the bubbling water, sinking down up to my chin. The heat soaked into my bones, unraveling the tension in my muscles. I rested my head against the back of the tub, and eyes drifted to the gray sky above us, “could be warmer.” My eyes flicked to his in mock seriousness, “get back to work.” I eyelids shuttered and I let my senses open to my surroundings.

The smell of earth; the freshness of the air; sap and pine; and man. I basked in the quiet moment, the stillness that only a fresh cover of snow gifts. I peeked an eye open just as he grabbed his hatchet and a smaller log that had been drying by the fire. With a fell swoop he swing the blade down onto the wood, and with a loud crack split the log in two. Another two swings and the wood was divded into smaller sections, one of which he dropped into the blaze.

The fire surged, and almost immediately I felt the water increase in warmth, the heat from the heart being driven into the pipes and into the tub. His gaze lingered on me, a salacious smile slowly forming as he kept his stare. I let my body lift with the float of the water, and his eyes widened as my nipples peaked through the bubbles.

His brow furrowed, darkening as a growl escaped his throat, “Woman you’re going to be the end of me if I have to watch you -frustrated- naked in that tub while I’m slaving away.”

Flowing 002

Snow 

Fuzz

Lick

Plaid 

Everything was entirely silent as the snow gently drifted down, seeming to almost float on warm upwinds as the cool bits of lacy ice fell from the heavens. The sting of the winter air made the tiny hairs on my face tingle and I rubbed my nose as the chill ticked the tip of my nose. 

I wiggled my toes in their fuzzy confines, soft wool from some type of animal that surely would have appreciated their coat in this temperature. Knowing that they would have grown a new one by the time the weather turned I brushed the image of a sheep or alpaca wearing socks from my mind.

A prickling sensation danced across my fingers as I removed them from my pockets lined with a soft plaid fabric, a luxury I hadn’t known until recently. Where I came from you didn’t need to line your pockets. 

I held my palm out as the snowflakes drifted down and several landed on my heated skin. I gazed at it for a moment before the warmth of my hand melted the crystalline structure.

“I dare you to lick a pole,” his grin pulled back his full lips, showing two rows of perfect teeth. He stepped close to me and the smell of firewood and leather replaced the fresh crisp scent of my surroundings. I could feel his heat emanating from him as he stepped in a little closer, and his lips brushed against my high cheekbone.

My eyes rolled and the corner of my own mouth turned up into a smile at his foolishness, “oh, well. Do you have a pole I can lick?” 

His eyes flashed and he grinned wider, “I think you would know the answer to that question.” Hands found my hips and he pulled me into him. His arms found their way around my waist as we embraced. I lifted my head and stuck my tongue out, trying to catch a snowflake. His chuckle sent a shiver over me, heating me more viscerally than a moment ago when his hands warmed the skin through the several layers of fabric. He stuck out his tongue too, and touched his tongue to mine. 

I snapped my mouth shut but a girlish giggle escaped me. His ice blue eyes twinkled as lips pressed into mine, effectively melting me into him. His embrace deepened as he felt me falter. 

“Or there are other things I can do with that pole,” he winked at me. Smiling deviously.

My palms pushed off from him and I playfully smacked him. The brisk air was an icy affront occupying the space where his warm body was just seconds ago. That warm body… my own mind skipped to devious things.

Flowing 001

Begin your story with someone either being followed or following someone else.

• liberty

• vision

• pony

• death

I paused. My breath hitched as I dared not move. The sounds of the alley echoed against the brick buildings and the pressure built in my chest from my paused inhale. Water drip, drip, dripping from a pipe. Laughter and the din of revelry escaping the windows of a home or perhaps an establishment several buildings down. 

The street lamps cast their eerie glow, shadowing from the doorways and stairwells around me. Shadows I nimbly slipped into as I allowed my lungs to expand. The fresh air in my lungs felt like a handful of cool water from a fresh brook on a hot summer’s day. Nothing behind me moved; I waited.

I heard the clip clop of hooves clapping against the cobblestones married with the soft sounds of leather soles erratically scuffing along. The splash of the wearer not minding their step as they trudged through a puddle of something -most likely the soils of the day. A moment or two later a man and a pony stumbled by as I waited, patiently.

Seemingly convinced I was not being followed, I turned from the shadows. Shivers raced down my spine and my arms pimpled with gooseflesh as a cool, dry hand wrapped its bony fingers around my arm.

“Why do you run, child?”

My head drifted to the sound of the raspy voice, indubitably weathered by the ages. My fingers found the hilt of the knife I carried but my hands remained still on the leather. Calm. Ready.

“I’ve been looking for you. I have a message for you,” the flickering of the gas lamps danced in the darkness of her eyes. A shade so deep, they could be black. The rest of her face was shielded in the collar of the cloak she wore, the texture of a fine linen worn well but cared for nonetheless. Her clothing spoke to wealth, a finery not all could afford but it was not the crisp newness of a recent purchase. It was clean, pressed.

I remained silent, lips pursed as I waited for her to explain why the hell she was touching me. I pulled back slightly, and her fingers curled firmly around my arm in response. My eyes slowly looked down at her hand and the gnarled fingers graced with a sapphire ring. Perhaps she should be relieved of the gem.

“When the sun passes its peak and casts a darkness that fractures the heavens, only you and the unspoken daughter may mend endings under the shattered sky. You must seek the object of death's desire for this will be your only chance of undoing.”

I wrenched my arm free of her grasp, and her hand flung back towards herself after my arms sudden departure. She leaned forward slightly,

“You must heed the seer’s vision. No one may escape the truths that are foretold.” She stared at me for a long moment, and it felt like her eyes were searching the crevices of my soul. What the hell is she going on about? 

Her eyes clouded over a milky white and her voice changed, smoothing over and sounding several notes higher, “Don’t forget who you are, what you are destined for. You know the truth they are keeping, and it’s not theirs to steal away. Free it, daughter.”

The woman stumbled back and inhaled a ragged breath,as her chin lifted it cast her face in the warm glow of the street lamps. Her eyes returned to the likeness of a deep chocolate. She uncurled a knobbly finger and pointed at me, “You,” the whites around her eyes shone as her eyes widened.

“Be mindful child, if she wakes we are all indeed in grave danger.” She lingered another moment, her eyes narrowing on me as if to relate a greater warning. She pivoted and her cloak fluttered behind her for a breath as she was swallowed in the darkness.

June 2005

The sun passed through the window, creating a sauna-like feel to the small room. My bed was mussed, a reminder of the restless sleep I encountered the night before. I picked up the laundry basket and made my way to my closet. I began searching amongst the garments for the empty hangers, pulling them aside for the newly laundered shirts and sweaters.

I froze. My bed was vibrating. My gaze travelled to the tangled duvet where I knew my phone was. I released the red cotton hoody back into the plastic basket, and walked over to the siren's call. My fingers grasped the duvet and pulled it back and I stood there, staring at the caller id.

My heart caught itself on the last beat. I could feel the blood pumping loudly through my veins.

buzz... buzz... buzz...

"Hello?" my voice was quiet.

"Sorry did I wake you?" his voice was cool but laced with regret.

"No, no worries. What're you up to?" I could feel my cheeks flushing.

"I just got off work. Cory was such a cow today."

"Oh really? That sucks. She can be that way sometimes."

"Yeah." I basked in the silence of our conversation. He voice reverberated through the speaker, "What are you up to tomorrow?"

"Uhm, nothing I think. I have the day off." Anticipation curled my toes.

"Would you like to hang out? We could go for coffee or take some photos or something,"

"Yeah, I'd like that." Looking out the window I saw the neighbour's playing with their children in their freshly manicured backyard. I let myself crumple onto my bed.

"Let's say 1? I'll pick you up."

"Ok. See you then."

"Ok, bye." the sound of the call disconnecting echoed through the line. I lay on my back and exhaled deeply. A smile crept it's way from the corners of my mouth.

February 14, 2012

The fabric was soft on my skin, caressing the sun-lightened hairs and spreading chills down my spine. It had a good weight, and I felt comfortable under it's cover. He was turned away from me, all I could see from the corner of my eye was a mass of dark brown curly hair. He turned toward me -slightly- and I could see from the way his eye was shaped that he was smiling.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he turned away from me when he realized I could see he was looking at me.

"Nothing," I responded, and fingered my necklace. I let my toes touched his and he let out a yelp as the freezing members touched his warm skin.

"You're so cold! Why are you so cold?"

"I don't know. I just get that way sometimes." I looked out the window at the apartments across the street. The houses were old, and I'm guessing divided into suites -as most places are in this area. It made me think of your apartment. The messiness of the balconies mirroring the old chair and cigarette butts that constantly littered your front entrance. That time that we got high and you started freaking out. How warm and smooth your skin always was.

"What are you thinking about?" He turned toward me and stared at my profile.

"Nothing." I cursed myself for letting your ghost haunt me.

"Ok." He snuggled under the covers more, and I turned toward him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"I should go..."

Musing 006

It is an odd sensation- the feeling of loss and completeness at the same time. A dull ache that ebbs and flows in the crevices of my being. As if there was a puzzle piece, once lost, now found and ever so gently put back in place. But the edges of the piece are frayed, and the layers of cardboard are loose as if it had been engorged with water. Now dried, in it's place, but not what it used to be. It will never quite fit in to the spot as it did before, a memoir of the time lost.

Musing 005

You are a temptuous villian

stealing my breath in the night

whilst my eyes; closed and unfluttering

are unknown to your stealthy presence.

The book I never wrote

February 12, 2012?

There is a moment, I believe, where a decision is made and things can never be the same again. A small action, perhaps insignificant but so incredulously impactful the reverbations can not be denied. It can be as simple as a softly spoken word, once emitted from soft, chapped lips never to be taken back or erased. Or a blink of a darkened eyelash, an eyelid closed for only a second so that a moment is lost. A second passed without recognition. The thing is, you may not ever know that the moment has happened until well after. Or perhaps you see the time fleeting away from you, and watch it sliver away.

I imagine this moment as the beginning, but I am truly unsure of where it all starts. I let myself believe that it was this moment, these moments that triggered everything that has ensued. But it is so hard to find the beginning of a string when the entire spooled is tangled.

The cotton of the blanket I am entwined in is worn and rugged with age. The fibres are fuzzy and slightly unraveled. I pull the corners closer around my body, snugly holding my grasp on the edges with my toes and fingers. I draw my body tighter into my self, and feel the softness of the blanket on my cheeks. My eyelids soften, heavy with burden of my seemingly swollen brain.

The grass, dull yet golden under the fading sky sways gently in the breeze. There is a slight chill in the air, signalling the near demise of torrid summer nights. Crickets chatter in between rocks and tufts of grass, creating a symphony with stream gurgling and rushing, and the leaves on the trees rustling. The moment seems very still, but lingering in it's passing.

I savour these moments, these little minutes where I am able to be still. Not only in mind but also body, and simply contemplate my surroundings. I think these are the times that allow my mind and spirit to recuperate, and simply- be.

A cloud of dust gathered across the field, and the sound of gravel crunching under hot rubber tires echoed off the trees lining the old country road. The old truck turned, and came up the pot-holed driveway. The brakes squealed as it came to a stop, and the bloom of air-borne dirt wafted in the setting sunlight.

The truck door slammed and as he came around the front of the truck his lips curved into a smile when he saw me, “hey beautiful.”

“Hey handsome.” My feet tingled as they touched the warm, weathered wood of the porch. I curled my toes on the edge of the step.

He walked along the path between the hydrangeas and roses and stood two stairs below me on his tip toes. His lips brushed against mind, “What's wrong?”

“”Nothing just thinking too much, you know me.” I wrapped the sweater closer around my body.

“You have to stop worrying so much, everything will be fine. Im here for you, you know that.” I cringed slightly at his words. He pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me. I could feel the warmth, and hardness of his body against mine. The delightful smell of him, and his aftershave -a delicious elixir. I exhaled deeply, and feel into his arms. “That's a girl. Come on, let's go inside and eat.”

I led him by his left hand through the old screen door on the front porch, and into our home. My hand left his in the kitchen, and slid into a pair oven mitts. As I opened the oven door, steam smacked me in the face. I placed the pot on a trivet on the old antique table I had found at a local flea market just after we bought the house.

It wasn't in very good shape. But then again neither was the house. Thom had wanted to buy a new house in a square subdivision with air conditioning and pre-installed lawn sprinklers that went off at exactly 7:30 in the morning and at night. I wouldn't have it. Those places have no soul, they're empty. I don't want to live in a painted box. He had laughed at me, and smiled: But if I put you in a box then you can never leave me. So we searched for the perfect house. And this was it. And old farmhouse, victorian style.

It was once on the outskirts of town, surrounded by fields and fields of wheat and horses. Now there were train tracks at the end of the road, and the vibrations from the trains passing shook the mirror in my boudoir at night and woke me. The old part of town was twenty minutes away driving, and the new mall and shopping center -five.

I fixed up the house. Hours of work scraping the old lead paint off of the boards on the outside, days peeling off faded wallpaper inside. I didn't work a typical job, but took time from my painting to do the majority of the renovations while Thom was at work. I turned the sunroom into a painting studio, filled it with an assortment of house plants and shelves and shelves of books I collected during school.

I had always dreamed of renovating my dream home. And I had got my wish. I had had everything. Rachel and I would spend hours searching in old antique stores looking for the perfect pieces. Like the vintage clawfoot tub in the master bath, and the kitchen table.

My fingers skimmed across the old wood. Worn yet sturdy. There were depressions where the previous owners had placed pots and bowls continuously: wearing down the fibres and exposing the grain of the wood. I slid into a chair at the table and watched as he doled himself a heaping of potatoes. My elbows rested on the table as I watched him.

His eyes were seemingly crystal clear, the pigment not distracting as you got lost in them. I always felt like looking into his eyes were like staring into his soul, like a blind person feel the hollows and mounds of the surface of a cave, feeling and knowing at the same time. Everything was always there, waiting for me -out in the open. All I ever had to do was to reach out my knotted line-etched fingers and grasp at him.

My hand sidled across the wood again and reach his wrist. I let my pinky creep along up on to it, feeling the fine hairs that canvassed the surface of his befreckled skin. His eyes darted from his heaping plate to me, and I shrunk a little back into my chair.

“I love you,” the words seemed to move in slow motion from his lips, and I smiled at him as I felt a bubble choking up to my throat. I pressed my hand on top of his, pressing my lips together. His knowing eyes returned to his plate. My heart sank as I could see the disappointment welling up in him.

The choking feeling returned stronger than ever, “Excuse me” the chair scraped against the old floorboards I had had restored from underneath the tile floor someone had stupidly used to cover over the beautiful original flooring. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked over to the bathroom on the main floor, and latched the old knob after I closed the door. Everything was framed perfectly in the mirror, warm white walls with images from old botanical books framed in mirrors I scrounged for at flea markets and thirft stores. Everything I had worked so hard to accomplish, I had what I wanted. Most of it anyway.

Musing 004

tangled tongue and halted heartbeats;

the moment swells and gorges the second

before the concurring tock.

for a frozen fraction of a trice

the corners of your eyes shimmer.

as the tick climaxes, gravity is defied

and molecules are suspended and paralyzed.

it is this moment when all things are halted

and nothingness exists around me-

except for that glimmer.

Tock sleekly slithers into this trice in time, stealing the nothing, the something away. I glimpse of the mirrored image of myself in the darkness of your eyes, and see that the shine is merely a reflection of my translucency.

Cruel tock- an avid and fervent villain, you beseech me, ripping the whispered words from the edges of my parted lips. pilfering the tick of ecstaticness from my reverberating heart. leaving me with the shallow, dull and heavy dread of knowing that the instant is in vain.

Musing 002

The sickly sweet sensation of your words upon my skin leaves the hairs pin-pricked and standing like gentlemen. Sometimes i think that it would be better if you turned and walked away. But i know that when you're gone i'll see you in everything beautiful. The cavernous crevasse in which my angst lies hidden amongst alien emotions by foreign footsteps draws nearer with every tick. Nothing ever touches: particles are separated by air while your thoughts are so close but yet still burning at my feet. The rings of calcium on my bones tell of the times i left and came over again and again but only to leave and walk away.

untitled

My toes dug in deeper, at first basking in the warmth of the hot sand to later burrow in the chilled -slightly moist sand that lay underneath. Darkness removed, I opened my eyes to reveal a smokey sky, lit with salmon and lemon hues. Budding star lights years away. 



A wall existed around us, of distant chatter: the hum of laughter and muffled ipods. you lay next to me in your battered old vintage blue tee-shirt you found in that salvation army last fall. My finger tips traced the line of your lips, falling now and then upon the sharp brittle stubble on your soft skin. 



Your hair was still black back then, as now it is riddled with grey -giving you that aged and cultured kind of appeal. Our glasses clinked up against one another as we cheered on to another year, a new day, and the beginnings from which we came. the past that we eluded. 

your eyes twinkled as you laughed, that deep earthy feel. but you looked away too soon, and i knew. but what i knew i was not sure. only that you were far away -too far for me to reach again.

the smug summer faded into a brilliant fall and you faded from me as well. where the leaves turned bright and golden luster evanesced and the chipper subdued. 



now the snow falls, the first crystals melting on the carved granite. i stand before you as if i have something to offer. but there is nothing for me to do for you anymore. no kisses, no stolen eyes, no smuggling hugs and thoughtful notes on pillows. when was the last time you brought me breakfast in bed? my mind betrays me. 

time is stolen.

Musing 001

violet velvet undulating


soft airless mountains


colored crystals create


a vineyard of leaves and limbs



the feathers dwelling warm


the soft coconut skin


the endless moments of


gazes caught within



lashes caress cheeks


spaceless images commence


a blink ago i was there


behind the raindbowed fence

January 17, 1992

its like the summer heat. my vision is blurred as if i'm crossing the desert, and the heat coming up from the ground is creating a glassy obscured version of reality. except its not hot at all. and i'm underwater. my lungs fill with fluid as my lips part as if to scream, but only bubbles escape from my mouth. the sound of my voice echoes slightly underwater, though not enough that anyone could hear. my face begins to tingle as my body loses oxygen. i try to hold my breath, not let myself breath in -but its inescapable. water floods my nostrils and the icy cold pools in my lungs. my fingers grasp at the ceramic tile around me; frigid. my nails scrape against the clean, smooth silica finish. nothing. my body sinks to the bottom. the back of my eyelids are black.

fingers. my eyelashes frame a purple housecoat floating in the winter breeze. fingers grasping my waist. i feel the temperature rising, and a blast of ice torments my skin as i break the surface. my lungs choke, sputtering out water as air replaces it. cold, hard cement. i roll on my side and cough violently. my dark curls spread eagle over the pebbles cast in mortar, cascading down over the edge of the hot tub. my child fingers flex as sensation recovers in my limbs. her thick accent spreads over me like a warm blanket, "gabrielle, im so sorry gabrielle. breathe honey. please?"

July 8, year unknown

the smell of smoke surrounds me. the fire flickers and cracks. the logs jump and pop as if they were little elves at a party dancing. my brother sits across from me, holding a stick into the fire upon which he is currently burning a marshmallow. my mother and aunt bustle around the picnic table, clinking and clanking cutlery and pots. Spaghetti.



"ryan will you please come clean the scrabble game off the table? dinner's almost ready" mom scolds him. he looks at her, and returns his long, affixed stare on the flames. "Now!" she demands raising her voice. he climbs out of his chair, throwing the stick and marshmallow into the fire and to their doom.

i sit in my chair with my knees to my chest. silently watching. mathew dazes off alongside me -his brown curls resting on the hard, white plastic of the chair engulfing him. tianna walks over to him and places a hand gently on his shoulder, "wake up sweetie, dinnertime" his eyes crack open and he rubs the side of his face with his tiny toddler hands. his mouth spreads in a yawn. she makes her way back to the table, and momentarily returns with a plate of food for him.


he looks down at the noodles on his plate, "i want bread!" tianna looks at him over her shoulder, "mathew, please, just eat your noodles. i didnt give you any sauce."

"i want bread" he chants in an irritated tone. the fire explodes loudly in a pop and a crack and embers float into the night sky. i follow the glowing ashes as they dissipate into the mess of tree-limbs. out of the corner of my eye i see one land on the drying line where my bathing suit is hung. ryan slams the scrabble case onto the top of a cooler. the gas clicks off as my mom turns off the stove and the sauce continues to bubble. laughter echoes in the distance as music blares from car speakers. my eyes memorize the shambles of my family.

January 1, 2007

the sound of glass hitting wood resonated in the room. i could hear him swallow the golden liquid, gulping it down past his adam's apple. the fireplace flickering. a clock ticking, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 "Happy New Year." he smiled at me and his body leaned forward. his lips nearly touched mine as i turned my face away. i smiled as i saw the other couple asleep on the couch. i could smell the tequila on his breath as he slowly, deeply, exhaled in and out, "first time for tequila eh? you're not doing too bad"



my lips tweaked at the edges, "it's yummy." i closed my eyes and leaned backwards till my shoulder blades hit the floor. i let the room pound around me, softly turning. i shivered as it began to spin faster. i jumped slightly as i felt his strong hands sliding underneath me. i let him pick me up. 



he let the door hit his hip and it sliding open gently. chilled air rushed up against my skin. he gently lay me down again on the floor -the carpet rustling against my legs and arms. i opened my eyes as i felt him lay on top of me. he brought his lips down, and i turned me head again "I have a boyfriend."


"No one will know" he tried to kiss me again.



"I will." I scrambled out from underneath him and eased myself onto the leather seat of the exercise machine, stumbling slightly. he looked at me, his eyes narrowing for a second. "she told me you didn't have a boyfriend."



"haha, that's cuz thats what she wishes. she doesn't like him." i smiled, a familiar phrase to me.



he pushed up from the floor and disappeared into the darkness. i lay back down on the bench letting the cold fabric sooth my feverish dermis. "mmmmmm" i remained still savouring the moment. the room violently flinging around me, clicking like looking through the propeller of a large fan. repetitious, monotonous nothing.

August 1999

I remember his feeble body. His limbs were like sticks with clay smudged around them: trying in vain to deflect from the façade of disease. His eyes fluttered erratically, yet his breathing was monotonous as the machine pumped the life-giving air into him. His lips were cracked, and his skin was transparent and yellow. His body was devoid of any spirit or life and I had an apoplectic feeling: guilty for my own health.

My melancholy was antagonized by the light streaming into the room from the windows, the beams undulated invisible waves of cheeriness into the stark and colour- lacking room. Suddenly I received the inkling that even if the drugs and the machines were a source of palliation, it would be ok.

So as I followed the crowd into the mausoleum, I was beginning to accept what had happened. I remained inconspicuous near the back of the crowd, as I didn't care where I was, just as long as I was there. My mind failed to function properly, except for the rudiments like walking and sitting. I must have looked like a zombie, for I did not direct my attention anywhere, just merely gazing out into the distance. Hours, or minutes later, the crowd dispersed, and I followed my family to the black car. The ride was quiet and eerie. I silently looked out the window as crystalline tears slid down my cheeks.