I Wrote This Last Month

He breathed life into her cold soul,
Setting free the demons that had plagued her.
In his eyes, she saw a new beginning.
In his hands, she found heaven.
And in his arms, she found solace.

His lips sought hers,
Tormenting and caressing
Until they could no longer.
Warm kisses exchanged hastily,
As though the last may come too fast.

She laid her head against his breast,
Whispering her secrets to his heart.
He whispered secrets into her hair,
Breathing the fragrant softness with his soul.

He touched her heart
and broke it without much thought.
She stood atop blackened cliffs
Beaten by the angered waves.
Lightning flashed,
And the rain pelted her reddened eyes.

She walked in shadow,
Searching corners for her love.
He had stolen her heart,
And she wanted it back.

For an eternity, she sought it.
She begged him to return it,
But he claimed he had lost it.
Bitter tears stung her eyes,
And angry words bit her tongue.

“You once loved me,” she said.
“You once whispered your love to me.”
She stood before him;
Barren, lost, and hurt.

“I thought I loved you.
I whispered naught those secrets you claim.”
He stood defiantly before her,
Smiling wickedly.

She turned away, walking amongst the light,
With their lively hearts.
“I have lost you, mon coeur.”

Haunted by memories,
She shall ever be.
What once was,
And what will never be again.
She closed off to the world,
A daughter of the black.

-3/7/13

After a lengthy absence, I finally have something to share. I basically wrote this under the influence of Irish beer. I was interrupted by my sisters, so it may not be cohesive. Enjoy!

There are forty-five minutes until midnight, and the beginning of a new year. It’s a new year for the two of them, ushering in the anniversary of their first year of marriage, as well as the milestones of turning 30. He’s more relaxed about their birthdays than she is.

She is across the room, talking with a few friends, a glass of water in her hand. He watches her from across the way, feeling the effects of the second glass of beer he had, and finds her even more beautiful than she was when they left the house that evening for the party. She looks over at him, and smiles. He’s pretty sure she’s smiling because he’s on his third glass of beer, but he’s pretending she smiled because she is happy. He takes one last gulp, and walks over to her.

“Hello, darlin’,” he smiles, kissing her on the cheek and wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. She looks at him and smiles warmly.

All of her friends look at him, and are jealous of her. He doesn’t know why, he thinks he’s nothing special, despite what she tells him. She smiles again when she notices they’re staring at him, and not paying attention to the fact she’s talking about Santa Claus being her uncle.

“Will you ladies excuse us? I want to steal her away for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, Colin. Having a good time?”

“I am having a great time. How can you not with such lovelies to admire?” He’s goading them, and he knows it. They flush, and he smiles triumphantly, whisking her off.

“You know they’re freely staring at your butt right now, right?”

“Are they, my love?”

“Well…after that invitation you gave them, yes.” She looks up at him, and laughs.

He leads her outside, to the deck outlined with clear Christmas lights, where he promptly presses a deep kiss to her lips. She kisses him back, giggling.

“You couldn’t do that in there?”

“Not really, no.”

“Are you suddenly against PDA? Because, in the past, it never would have stopped you.”

“Actually, I have a proposition,” he smiles devilishly.

“Well, you can propose it inside,” she replies. “It is cold as hell out here.” She walks away and back into the house. He is not too far behind, grabbing at her back as she playfully speeds away from him.

He catches her as she sinks onto a sofa in the corner, beneath the low light of an overhead light. He nuzzles his nose into her neck, and presses soft kisses up to her ear.

“What is this proposition, then?” She murmurs, smiling at the kisses.

“I propose we get out of here, and have our own little New Year’s party in our own house,” he breathes, kissing her ear.

“No, Colin. This is my first New Year’s party, and I want to stay here until midnight. What’s spurred this, I wonder? You were more excited about this party than I was earlier today. What’s changed?”

“It was this beautiful bird I saw from across the room,” he whispers, trailing his finger across her collarbone, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “She smiled at me, and I felt the need to bed her immediately.”

“’Bed her immediately?’ Have you been reading nineteenth century novels again? You don’t speak like that, even when you’re seducing me. You’re acting strange.”

“I haven’t touched those books recently,” he replied, pulling back from her. “I’ve cracked open a few of yours, though,” he retorted. “Is the whole ‘heaving bosoms’ thing your idea of an excellent novel?”

“Compared to your Game of Thrones­-themed books, they’re amazing. But to answer your question, no they aren’t my idea of a good book. I read them for a bit of a change from what I normally read, which has no sexual situations. Those books are the touch of HBO that everyone except religious leaders yearns for when they watch television. You’re well aware that I read books with far more substance than romance novels.”

“I could break out the Camelot cape I have in the wardrobe. I know what that does to you,” he smiles mischievously.

“Really?” She asks, getting distracted by the idea of him dressing up as a Knight of Camelot. “No, I won’t be distracted, even in the face of such a suggestion. I want to stay here through the end, and kiss you at the stroke of midnight,” she returns firmly.

“Don’t say ‘stroke,’ Olivia,” he groans, straightening up on the sofa.

“Okay, I’ll just leave you here then. I am going to go and talk with Alicia,” she laughs, kissing the top of his head.

Colin sits on the sofa, calming down, all while watching Olivia interacts with their friends. It seems strange to him that at this time the year before, he was totally single and wishing he wasn’t at this party. He met Olivia on his birthday, two months later. Five months later, they were married, shocking their friends and family members. Once he was ‘settled’, he went to grab two glasses of champagne. He spun to walk toward Olivia, when he met up with Gerard.

“Olivia seems happy,” Gerard voices, gesturing at Olivia.

“She’s over the moon,” Colin smiles. “I tried convincing her to get out of here, but she insists on staying.”

Just then, a ruckus stirs at the front door. Into the living room walks Declan, all boisterous and already drunker than someone should be before midnight. He makes an instant beeline for Olivia, which causes Colin to smirk.

“What is that?” Gerard asks, noticing Colin’s reaction.

“It’s Declan,” he returns, “Olivia cannot stand him. She thinks he’s loud, overbearing, and doesn’t like the fact he fancies her. The question is: how will she react?”

Colin stands there in amused silence. Declan approaches Olivia, and she turns just as he speaks her name. Her face contorts in fright and annoyance, as he pulls her into an uncomfortable embrace. Colin waits for the moment of truth: how will Olivia react? Colin is stunned when she puts on a fake smile and looks like she’s interested in what he has to say. She glances up at Colin, giving him the signal for rescue. He lets her fester a few more seconds, before walking over to them.

“Hey there, Declan. Happy New Year,” he smiles. Olivia looks at him in appreciation. “Here’s your champagne, baby-bear,” he voices, handing her the glass. Colin knows Declan cannot stand the fact that Olivia is married to him.

“Happy New Year to you as well, Colin,” Declan returns, putting on a fake smile. “I was just saying to Olivia it’s such a beautiful night.”

“Indeed it is, Declan. I have never seen such a clear sky on New Year’s Eve,” Colin smiles at Declan’s discomfort. Olivia shoots him a look. “Uh…there’s ten minutes until the New Year, and I wanted to introduce Olivia to some people. If you’ll excuse us, Declan.”

Olivia smiles brightly, zipping by Declan with a short ‘nice seeing you.’ Colin wraps his arm around her shoulder, and laughs. Colin and Olivia separate for a few minutes, and Colin finds a short moment to look at Olivia having a discussion with someone, occasionally sipping at her champagne and smiling.

At a minute until midnight, Colin pulls Olivia away from her conversation and they go to a part of the party where there aren’t too many people standing around, so they have some air. They exchange knowing glances, and smile as they sip their champagne. As the last thirty seconds tick by, Colin takes Olivia’s glass and places it on a nearby table. The last five seconds consist of Colin pulling Olivia to him, and kissing her deeply as everyone begin shouting “Happy New Year!” around them. Olivia squeals as he kisses her. Everyone around them has done the traditional kiss, and is now singing ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Colin pulls away from their inaugural New Year’s kiss as a married couple, and he takes her hand and leads her out to the road, flagging down the only unoccupied taxi to take them home.

The ride home is filled with her giggling, since she normally doesn’t have a lot to drink, so she feels really loose. Colin takes advantage of her change in mood, and whispers everything he wants to do with her, which sends her into even more fits of giggles. After paying the driver, they walk down the lane to their tiny apartment.

“You are going to wear the cape and sword, right?” Colin looks at her in disbelief. “Because if not, you have left me severely disappointed. You promised.”

“I promised nothing of the sort,” he answered. Olivia pouted, snickering into giggles. “But if you wish me to suit up into armour, then you shall get your wish,” he smiles widely.

Olivia claps and jumps up and down in excitement.

They fall through the door, and the New Year’s festivities continue long after.

Short Poem

To you I extend my heart
For I always carry yours.

We are one being,
In mind and soul.
In you, I see myself
And I love you all the more.


-I have no clue when I wrote this, or even what the inspiration might have been. I do know it was written within the last two months.

Embraced Part 2

I am basically writing this like I wrote Part 1, without a plan, and seeing where the wind blows me.

**************

I spent the whole of our lunch period sitting at the male-dominated table of Jonathan and his friends. There were a few moments where I contemplated getting up and leaving, because I sensed the guys were holding back from their usual topics of conversation, but I ended up sticking around because Jonathan wouldn't remove his right arm from my body. At the beginning his arm was thrown around my shoulder, and by the end, it had fallen right above my hip. I was sure my face was showing tell-tale signs that this unnerved me, but if it was, nobody was talking about it.

Something I Wrote a Few Years Back

I wrote this a while back, while living in Oregon. It was raining, and I was looking at my tweed coat hanging in the closet, and I just got this spark of inspiration. It's not finished, and I highly doubt I will ever finish it, or add on to it.

It had been raining all night.  I was awakened a few times by sudden downpours on my roof.  Besides the frequent rain, it was also unbearably cold.  And wouldn’t you know, I’d run out of coffee.  So I went to my favorite café for a muffin and café latte.  I was quietly seated in my corner; reading a book of Keats’ poetry, when she came in.

I’d seen her pass the window, dressed in her gray tweed coat, the hood pulled over her head to protect her from the cold rain.  I drew my eyes back to the book.  I heard the familiar tinkle of the door opening, and my eyes went curiously to the door, fully intending to go back to the book once I’d seen who walked in.  A shrouded figure entered, looking like some medieval character from a film.  The hood slowly pulled backwards; revealing an attractive woman with black hair.  Her quiet eyes slowly darted around the café.  She gently walked to the counter, her face reading the menu board.  She ordered a cookie and vanilla chai latte.

Once her order was ready, she sat at the table adjacent to mine.  She unbuttoned her tweed coat, and placed it on the empty chair to dry.  She walked to a cart with coffee tools to grab a napkin and coffee stir straw.  She looked my way, while I pretended to be engrossed in Keats.

  

“I love that book,” she smiled brightly.  “One of my favorite poems is in there.  Have you gotten to ‘Bright Star’?”

I casually glanced up. 

“No, I haven’t.  I think it’s towards the back, and I have made it my mission to read each and every word.”  I fidgeted with the cover while talking to her.

She shook her head, as if she understood.  “Well, good luck,” she whispered, going back to her table.  I decided to skip to ‘Bright Star’, to see what she was talking about.  And she was right; it was a beautiful poem.

Awhile later, she was finishing her chai, and putting on her coat.  As she walked to the trash can, I called out to her.

“I decided to skip ahead to read ‘Bright Star’.  You’re right, it is a nice poem.”

She smiled.  “That it is,” she replied.  “I’ll see you around.”

 ********

For the next week, I went to the café, hoping to see the woman in the gray tweed coat.  And never once did I see her.  Dejected, I went back to my normal home coffee brewing routine.

I was at the grocery store one afternoon (although it looked like evening) to do some impromptu shopping, when I saw a tweed coat.  My heart skipped a beat, and when I got closer, I realized it wasn’t her.  Depressed, I kept going.  In the produce department, I was thumping a cantaloupe, when I saw a tweed coat.  I wasn’t about to depress myself yet again, so I walked toward the broccoli.

“It’s the guy who was reading Keats at that little café,” I heard a voice cry behind me.  At this point, I believed my brain was playing tricks on me, so I kept walking.  “Hi!”  Deciding to play along, I spun around.  It was her, in all her gray tweed coat glory.

“Hello,” I spoke, hiding the enthusiasm that was raging within me.  “What are you doing here?”

She grabbed a pomegranate.

“Choosing fruit,” she smiled.  “Amongst other stuff.  I came home from work last night, and noticed I had no freaking food.  Besides, I heard there’s a blizzard on the way, and I want to make sure I’ve got enough food in case I’m snowed in.”

“Of course.  Same here, except for the blizzard thing,” I smiled.

“How is the Keats reading going?”

“Quite nicely, thank you.  I keep going back to ‘Bright Star’,” I spoke.

“Yeah, it has that power,” she chuckled.  “Well, good luck.  I should get back to shopping,” she smiled.  I nodded, and said goodbye.

Fade to Black

It looms around me, the darkness.

It may be light outside,

But it’s bleak and lifeless within these four walls.

I feel claustrophobic,

The air quickly leaving my lungs.

My heart bursting to pieces about me.

He says he needs space,

That the timing wasn’t right for us.

I looked up at him,

My eyes brimming with hot salty tears,

And I just nodded.

I should have called him a fucking asshole.

I should have said more than just “okay.”

What the hell is wrong with me?

I got up from the table,

Took my things,

And walked out the door.

And here I sit in my house,

Staring blankly at the walls,

Listening to sad music.

I cry at the drop of a hat,

And anything gets me started.

I’m in a fog,

Numb to the outside world.

I’ve cut off all contact from friends and family.

Their words do not soothe me,

Nor will they make me feel better.

I feel as if all is lost.

Lost in some dark forest in a mythical land.

The fog closes in,

And the world fades to black.

Part 2 of Unnamed Story-From Christian's POV

I am not very good with describing physical confrontation (not that I have really tried), so you'll have to forgive me if it's not very descriptive. I also apologize if how I wrote out 30 Euros is wrong. I am American, so I am not good with foreign currency outside of England.

First Five Pages of My Jackson Follow-Up

Okay, this is like a big deal for me.  I am posting the first five pages of the follow-up story to Last Words for you lucky readers/people who read this blog.  I may end up removing Last Words from Amazon, and posting it to some site, where you can read it in its entirety, since it's 20 pages long.


The thing to know about this story, aptly named  Moving On, is that it has chapters (believe me, I spent six hours revising and adding chapters where I felt appropriate last night), but they might not be more than five or six pages apiece.  The story after I revised it last night, equals out to 94 pages altogether.  It's the longest thing I have ever written, and it's also the second or third thing I have written entirely on the computer.  


The guy I went out with a couple of times, who had the luck of being the first person to read the first story read something I wrote many moons ago (and have subsequently lost), which he remarked was a lot like a movie.  And I guess that's kind of my writing style.  It's more visually like a film, just without actors.  


As usual, I accept comments.  I want feedback on it.  If it's widely well-received, I might just put it up on some site and allow people to read it all the way through.


Check it out after the cut.

A Little Addendum

I mentioned in my post yesterday about my short story that when I got the initial inspiration for the essay/paragraph part, that a pair of eyes captivated me.  What I don't mention is that these elusive eyes, which are brown in the story were actually blue.  Like every other morning or night of my life since 2005 (not any more, but back then), I was seeing the eyes of the selfsame guy who I sent the finished product off to those months later when I revised and lengthened it.  He doesn't know this, and probably never will, since he knows nothing of this blog, and we haven't spoken since October 2009.

The first sentence speaks volumes.  It's what I saw, felt, and heard that morning after the thunderstorm.

The morning air was dewy, an inconsequential trace of the storm that had raged outside hours before.  The trees dripped with wetness, and the birds chirped a quiet song, as if singing louder may cause the storm to rage once more.  


And you have to go down a bit further to find the crux of how you know it's me talking about him. Obviously, because I wrote this, I know where it is.  And because you don't, I am going to put it in here.


What angers me more than anything is that you haunt me night and day.  In the moments where I finally think you’re going to leave my mind altogether, your eyes pop into my head.  Those eyes: a shocking brown, which rendered me helpless anytime I gazed into them.  You’re everywhere, it seems...

...If I could say anything to you, it would be I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for being that wretched person that day, for saying things I knew would hurt you, and not even caring about the possible outcome.  You ought to know I say things before I realize what I’ve said.  With that said, I know that nothing in the world will ever change what happened.

Anyway, I just thought I would set that all out, so I can move on.  

My friend and I were going through a rough patch at the time this was written.  He decided to be a good friend and looked into local colleges for me to attend, since when I quit my job at the same time he did in January 2008, I was strongly contemplating going back to school.  I was conflicted by his actions, because I kept reading vibes from him online that he was into me in a non-friend capacity again, which he wasn't. I said some nasty things, and he essentially stopped talking to me.  I lasted two weeks without talking to him, before I extended the olive branch, apologizing for my attitude.  So the above sentence is my way of apologizing again for my lack of comprehension in reading his actions.  That, and the sentence about his haunting me.

He really did honestly haunt me night and day.  When I was left alone with my thoughts, there he was, popping in through flashes in my memory.  Although I didn't think of him as a romantic interest anymore, he was still very much a fixture in my life.  His emails were, at the time, my lifeline.  I thought at one point that I couldn't function without hearing from him, and I felt this way when he broke things off after we'd gone out those couple of times.  "If I couldn't have him as a boyfriend, I would have him as a friend, no matter how much it hurt me."

Obviously, since it's been over two years since we spoke last, I am just fine without hearing from him.

So there's a little side story into the inspiration for Last Words.

In Thought

I originally wrote this July 24, 2011.  I was in thought about a moment I had with a guy I went out with a few times, but I severely changed the setting, the outcome, and several things from that day.  I also don't indent like I'm supposed to, so try and ignore that.

The sunlight was waning through the window, the clock quickly ticking away the minutes on the wall. I leaned against the sink, hairbrush in my hand, and I looked in the mirror.

"Vacation's almost over," I spoke softly in my head. And with that, I finished brushing my hair, and came out of the bathroom.

He's sitting on the couch, mindlessly staring out the window at the setting sun through the not-so-filtering blinds. He looks so peaceful. I close the door behind me, walking right in front of him to the doors leading to the outside, where the ocean is dancing along the shore. I throw open the doors, and seat myself on the arm of a chair, with a tranquil view of the setting sun against the ocean staring back at me. I hear him stir from behind me, and feel a shift in the chair when he sits down. A slight breeze wafts through the door, making his cologne float into my senses, surrounding me like a blanket.

"A lovely day turning into an even lovelier evening," he spoke, his voice tinged with contentment. He wraps his left arm around my waist, his fingers lazily swirling on my hip.
"It's definitely beautiful," I reply, a smile forming on my face. "I love the ocean. I love the beach. There is no better place for me to be happy than by the ocean." His fingers stop tracing circles on my hip. His fingers tap my side.
"What about me? Don't I make you happy?"

My lips purse in amusement.

"Of course you make me happy," I voice, placing my hand on his. "But you also know how peaceful I feel by the ocean."
"I do, yes." His fingers go back to tracing haphazard shapes against my hip and thigh.

Another breeze grazes my face, and I close my eyes as it caresses my senses. I breathe it in and sigh with delight, as he takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. He leans his head against my back, making me chuckle.

"I miss you," he murmurs into my back.
"What do you mean, you miss me? I'm right here." I grab the hand on my leg and kiss it.
"But you're not here. You're there, standing on the shore."
"I am so here right now. I can feel you touching me, I feel your hand in mine, and I can smell the cologne I bought you for Christmas. If I were by the ocean, I wouldn't feel or smell any of that." I turn to him, and kiss the top of his forehead. "You're a silly guy," I laugh. I turn back to the opened doors, and watch the sky turn a pinkish-purple as the sun sets further into the horizon. His fingers move from my hip to my back, creating figure-eights in their wake. He buries his face at the top of my back, his nose pressing gently into the nape of my neck.

"I know what you're doing, Mister."
"And what is that, madame?"
"Tempting me to turn around, and stop looking at the ocean." His lips press gently against my neck, and move down, stopping at the top of my spine. His breath tickled as he lingered there. Deciding to play with him, I get up from the chair, and walk outside. Dragging a deck chair, I sit down, burying my toes in the sand. I hear his footsteps against the wooden planks of the patio/deck, and then the slight shuffle of the sand displacing behind me. He crouches down beside me, his hands gripping the arm of chair and places his chin on his fingers.

"Why'd you go away?"
"No reason. I just felt like it," I smile. He sighs, and sits on the sand. He picks up a handful, and lets it slip through his fingers, the breeze blowing it away from him.
"Come sit next to me," he asks, a hint mischief in his voice.
"No, I am comfortable here," I reply. I reach out my hand, and run my fingers through his deep brown hair. I see a smile creep across his face. He's not even slightly annoyed at me, if he's doing that. He takes my hand, and kisses my palm. He glances up at me, his blue eyes dancing in the light, and I smile. I stand up.

"Where are you going?" His eyes search mine questioningly. I step away, his hand still in mine.
"Make some space," I smile. He opens his arm, and I sit across his lap, resting my head on his shoulder. "This is much better," I sigh. He runs his hands up and down my arms, warming them. He leans his head down, and kisses me softly.

A perfect end to a perfect day.