ccherylb
mortar and bricks
for you to rest your head against
when the people you've called friends
have become solid and hard.
the leathery surface of your skin, the stiff and slip of your right arm, wrapped around me.
It seemed real, but then again, what does that mean? Your arms were there, scraping against mine. You lips were chapped, rubbing against mine. Your eyes were blank. Your shirt was off. Your chest was bare.
She needed a break. She loved her children, but she needed to get away. One son, plus a disabled husband is a little much to bear on working woman, supporting a family and a college lover.
We were like a pot of stew - such a mixture of differing ingredients, some unlikely, but somehow coming together as one complete and amazing creation.
I think if we were a soup, and served to millions, everyone would come back for seconds.
I think we could be scrumptious.
He chewed the bit of straw as if it were a last supper, though I think it was only that he was in a deep concentration. We sat in the countryside together - right next to one another- in the field, voicing not a word.
Those were the most deeply simplistic moments of my life. I loved him then, as I continue to now despite the passing of time and illicit lovers.
I smacked the invisible tennis ball with the imaginary racket gripped between fingers.
I always wanted to be an athlete but football was too physically demanding, baseball was too defined, and basketball required upper-body strength I did not possess. The coach told me to join the debate team, but show him - and my parents too. I'll show them all: I can sweat like the rest of them.
"Well, this s quite a dilemma we're in, wouldn't you say?," was all I could here of his mottled voice as I passed from consciousness.
writing since 2012 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
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the words Cheryl reaches for
againstrestloveddilemmamottledvoicepassedconsciousnesssmackedinvisibletennisballimaginaryracketgrippedfingers