willow705

willow705

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She put her hand into the crook between my thigh and my knee. "I'll be here." The words didn't hold any meaning yet. I barely knew her, but certainly knew her well enough to hear the empty echo of her words, the hollow cavern she spoke from.

panda

She swung her legs off of the chair. She was starving, but the carnage of leftover chinese food containers around her living room made her stomach turn. "What have I been doing for the past seventy-two hours?"

I traded postcards for the times I could not see your face through the bathroom window, looking cooly through the glass as I brushed my teeth, combed my hair. I listened through the walls for your feet shuffling dirt along the sidewalk, for the sound of your back knocking gently against your knee, but only found an empty august morning, the street being brushed clear by the wind.

She's not allowed to say it aloud, don't you see? She's fidgeting, turing her pleats over her hands, she's finding it incredibly hard to breathe--she cannot see herself with me. Not aloud. Not in site. She will not allow herself to put sound to her thoughts, to our thoughts, to our hands intertwined.

The last speck of laughter tumbled lightly from her lips and into the shallow pool of the morning announcements.

The salt air chewed at her hands like the cold winter winds she had left behind in New York. "I've spent a lot of time thinking of you," she mumbled.

oven

Gentle moment on the green roof of a cold and dusty house--the one we left behind. I've never read silence quite like I could in your face that night in the gentle murmur of our laughter--all too loud and all too quiet under such bright moonlight.

Pounding on the door but I would not let her in, not with the words misspelled and misshapen like a drunken tattoo on the back of my hand--she would know, she would see the faint tear-stained pages that I could not erase and could not repeat.

Your mercy reminded me of the faint flicker before the candle blows out--that last inhale of breath before giving up and floating away as a smokey memory.

The last quiet crumb of laughter sailed gently from her lip. There were no windows, no hint of light to flick across her eyes.

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writing since 2012 · 57 entries · 57 days shown up

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on this day 14 years ago

you wrote about holder
“I put sunflowers in my pocket, just to keep them for later even though I knew they would wither before I returned home. I suppose I wanted to cherish the moment. To take it with me. I don't rememb…”

the words you reach for

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