mynamemeanscherry

name is cerissa…like marissa or carissa but deranged.

Category: Poetry

Evolution of a Reader

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This afternoon I took the blue, wool blanket off of my hospital bed and found a cozy windowsill to coop myself up in. The view of the Catskills was perfect, the snow on the mountains projected the shadows and curves of the protruding giants so greatly, the landscape was absolutely mesmerizing. I found my book and sat there reading for hours. My grandmother gasped and said “Cerissa! I love this! I have to take a picture!” and thus, this idea was born. The Evolution of a Reader by Cerissa DiValentino.

Deprivation

Written March 24th,2014, two days before my brother’s birthday. I remember faintly that I couldn’t sleep this night and I was writing a 2 in the morning, knowing I would have to wake up in a few hours for school.

her mind gives her no mercy tonight,

her makeup the tan of weeping

raspberries,skin baked in icy veins and bone scraping pain

what a heated heart of absorbed moonlight and the night’s yellow dust she hides.

long streets,pouring rouge and thick clouds, throat peeling screams.

burning tears rise to the ashy red road of capillaries in her eyes

behind walls of thin ribs, a cage of flowing happiness

snow cakes the spaces between her toes,the vulnerable holes in her chest.

bleeding beauty,yelling hopelessness.

dirt and dry mud paint the crevice of her toenails

oh what a beautiful brain she holds,

the juices she pumps in her veins, the ones that sting and sizzle on the warmth of her insides

a crumbling body melting like drenched wood at the heart of a crackling fire.

piles of ice steam away as they fall to her surface.

kissing her bruises, the colors that make her build the artist’s canvas.

feeling and losing the ability to feel,

soaked in numbness,

afraid of the suspenseful fear that flourishes within her.

chipping away at the strength of her heart

her thoughts run on novacane tonight

sweet,sweet novacane.

spilling,curling in folding waves

tumbling over and under,

failing to find stability beneath her.

starving for love and open arms.

abundant blanket of miniscule bumps creeps to her outer layer.

the moon’s messages swaying around her wrists and ankles,

painting a picture of loosely tied ribbons around her pale body.

shes coming to a dead end of cloudy dirt roads and unlit alley ways.

a shortage ending her stash of colorful juices that embrace her bones.

alley ways where the homeless kiss the world goodnight,

where the click of gun’s play.

the tires run cleanly beside her,

the engine roaring at her heels,

aware of his presence but keeps her empty eyes set on the miles ahead.

“Do this.””Little one,the rent is due.””Little one, you’re okay.””Little one,do this.”

the tap her heels sing ceases to dance with the pebbles of the deteriorating pavement.

pivet.

pop of the door.

what a beautiful,horrendous routine.

the warmth of her seat embeds in her cracks and flushed cheeks.

“Just the hour little one, just the hour.”

oh how powerless she feels.

a prisoner to her own will.

The curls bounce around the sharpness of stinging eyes like hers.

lips pierced with tightness.

fragile and shedding.

the snow melts under the tips of her fingers.

one button. two buttons. undone.

“ you’re okay, little one.”

after a corrupted heaven falls under the minutes carrying tired seconds,

the smell of raw money in the palm of her hand gives her might.

to sell her dignity for a piece of warm paper that has more worth that she ever will feel.

for a pillow. “please, a bed.”

tears fall from her grey eyes that hold hideous photos.

forming roads streaming over the ruby rouge that has brought purity to her face.

unaged but slightly tattered.

for once, she needs a grip that will hold her sorrow and squeeze her tight in love, not pleasure.

she needs what she wants and barely wants for what she needs.

but a string of pride and untouched hope ties a ring around her neck.

to be loved,not lost. beautiful, not a toy. independent, not a sample.

the pills look to the sun by morning from her hands.

right hand, pills. left, the burn of cold vodka.

swing,swoosh,swallow.

“Little one, you’re okay.”

Spacious

Written September 23rd,2013.

I want to see the moon.

It’s craters,holes and loveliness.

I want to see space.

Experience its cold bite,it’s blackness and forgiveness.

I want someone to hug me.

To feel their breath through the fibers of my sweater while they bury their soft features into my shoulder.

To hold them.

To know them.

To care for them.

I want someone to want me.

No. Not in the way a man wants a woman.

The way a child wants his mother,or the way a sister wants a brother.

I want protection and love and care.

For someone to stay no matter how much I push them away.

No matter how many miles I distant them from my thoughts.

I  want someone to dig deep, to think about me and to call me randomly one night to express how much I mean to them.

How much does it take to ask for love?

To pick me up,bring me places,explore something new.

To write notes,letters,leave hints or signs that they’d been there earlier.

To spend days do nothing together but knowing it meant everything.

To sing,and dance and drive all over.

To talk and cry and listen.

To respect and love and care.

I want someone to stay.

To mean it when they say they’re staying.

To mean it when they say they’re not leaving.

To embrace the idea,to work hard for it.

To show a girl of no trust,loniless and confusion how a bestfriend…how a person who cares truly is.

To have no one.

To have nothing.

Begging for someone to fill the void and save them from their terror of drowning and losing.

Lost their battle.

Lost their war.

Lost their pride.

Lost their life.

SAY YOU’LL STAY.

STAY.

SAY YOU WON’T LEAVE.

Don’t. Don’t leave.

Just stay and tell me stories.

Know when I’m mad,I want you to stay.

Don’t walk away. Don’t.

Stay with me.

Because for every damn person that’s entered my life,made a promise,broke it and left…scarred a heart wrenching memory upon myself.

Upon my skin.

Upon my face.

There is nothing to cure a broken promise.

A promise meant to be full of hope and happiness.

A broken promise meant to be harmful and heart wrenching.

Stay.

Save me from my nights of hiding.

Nights of sad music,burried in blankets and no light.

Stay.

And keep me company.

Promise?

Nova

Beginning of a story I never continued. I do that fairly often unless I absolutely adore the piece.

I was five years old. Winter brought aching winds of red lashes to our pale cheeks and numbing fingers. My feet kicked up broken twigs, dead grass and muddy snow as my mother pulled me by my arm through the woods. I was lost in a moment that didn’t catch too much of my attention. I stared deeply at the trees and how they looked so lonely. Mother ushered me to keep very quiet before we left the small cottage that I knew..running. Why were we running? That I couldn’t answer. Tears streamed down her face, red and pinks swallowing her face whole. She was heaving and tired but, her strength seemed greater than ever. A sky of ash and grey clouds painted the world around me in a way that didn’t make me feel so comfortable. My joints ached at the continued amount of force that was being pulled onto my left arm. But Mother told me to be quiet. I didn’t say a word. Racing past dead bushes and leaping over fallen trees, not turning back once. My mind felt empty. Thinking too much of leaving the animals behind, the little garden of tulips and Ruby back at the cottage would throw me into hysterics. The wind would slide against my face and tears, making my body more freezing than it was. So I didn’t cry. “Nova.” Her voice sending a storm of chills down my spine. Something in her voice made me want to break to pieces. We stopped running and I could feel the soreness growing in my arm already. She looked directly into my eyes. I’ve never noticed the dark circles that rimmed underneath her lashes until this moment. She must have aged in those very seconds, wrinkles stretched along her forehead in fear like I’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.” Mother says. Why? Why are we running? Where are we going? “I need you to hide here until I return, okay? It’s like Hide and Seek!” her lips danced in a rush, her eyes staring into mine and over my head behind me constantly. Leaning in front of me so we were about the same height, she grips both my arms and smiles. “I love you.” She’s holding back an avalanche of tears, I can see them faltering behind her eyelashes but she knows she has to be strong. For me. She pulls me into her chest. Her touch is cold but her chest is warm. Running her fingers through my hair, I lay my head on her shoulder. This is the part she picks me up,  I fall asleep in her arms and we go back home. I’ll wake up to warm soup and Ruby at my side in my little bed of meshed sheets and fluffed pillows. Wrong. Oh, I was so wrong. She lifts me up and places me into a hole in the ground that squeezes my sides. Dirt stretches across my elbows as she lures me down. “I’ll be back, I promise. I love you. Don’t be scared. You’re strong and so very beautiful, Nova.” We stare at each other for a few more seconds before she leaves me in the quietness of my hiding space. I listen to the sound of her feet digging into the snow as she runs in the direction of the cottage. I fiddle with my fingers and poke holes in the mud beside me. My legs grow tired and all I want is the warmth of my bed, Ruby at my side. Ruby. My only friend. Roughly damaged at the ear and stains from many stories on her belly, but still as fluffy as can be. Mother went back to get Ruby. She’ll be back. She promised. Wrong again. As the exhaustion flowed throughout my body and finally met my eyes, I couldn’t help but curl into my knees and sleep. As I began to dose off, the greatest sound I had ever heard rang through the holes of my ears.Boom. I lifted my head from my knees and managed to my feet. Fire. Drowning the trees in an orange and black, spitting through the sky, dancing on the leaves. I placed two hands on the outside of my cubby in the ground and raised my eyes to meet ground level. Miles and miles of fire. “Ruby..Mommy..” I say in a whisper. I was no longer strong. No longer scared of the freezing of winter on my cheeks. Tears swam from my eyes and whimpers cried out from the pit of my throat. “Mommy!” I screamed. No answer. Just the crackle of the dying woods and creatures burning to death. A hand reached for my mouth and yanked me backwards. I was running. No not running. I was being carried by someone who was running. My eyes met his and I lost all urge to cry. Who are you? What have you done with Ruby and my mother? Why are you killing the forest? My eyes focused on his. Gentle lips and a scruffy face. His hair bounced at every step he took, and for some reason, I wasn’t scared. We ran for what seemed like forever. That was the last time I had seen my mother.

““I’ll be back, I promise. I love you. Don’t be scared. You’re strong and so very beautiful, Nova.” Wrong yet again.

Discovered Venting Piece

My life is this big blur. There’s no other way to describe it. Life is one big blur. You think in the morning…okay I have to get through this today and suddenly it’s over and you’re just like “wow.” That’s called dying. You’re dying. You’re life is progressing forward. I started noticing my days every morning. “Today will end and no one will speak of it.” Things turn into memories and memories die with them. Nothing in life last. Point blank. Painful right? But why is that painful? Isn’t that life? Well, we as humans, as individuals hope we leave an everlasting mark on this small earth to be remembered by. We fear that our soul will never find itself again. That once we die our soul won’t recognize the bodies it lived in before and what they accomplished. But why does it matter if we accomplish anything at all? It’s life and society taught us goals=happiness=success. No. I’ll fight that. Because it’s wrong.

You=free thinking=individuality=happiness that’s it right there. That’s the equation to life.

Free thinking + individually + peace = happiness and life.

Why don’t we follow this? Because society teaches us we can’t and in a world where that equation can’t be fully expressed, I wouldn’t want to live at all without it! I need that equation, not how to find the square root of 16. No. That’s not life. Knowledge is our open minds. If we eat something that makes us feel bad, we LEARN not to eat it again. We learn how to walk, how to run and swim and speak!! That’s knowledge. Diving into open waves and feeling so alive is living. Being with the earth is living. I feel like a domesticated human. That’s what we were. The government is our masters and we are the domesticated humans. Just like any other domesticated animal because hell, that’s what we are!! And if anyone is disgusted by that then you are not human at heart and I recommend you dig deep and find yourself. We. Are. Just. Animals. We are animals that went too far. You know how jealous I am of the bird? Very. Their brain is not too complexed to hurt. They just fly, they breath, they see the earth, they don’t run on time, they run on life!! They reproduce and die! And you know what, that bird will leave more of a mark then I ever can because I am not allowed to be me in this society. In this corrupted, brain-washing society. To hell with politics, to hell with putting labels on clouds! Why name a cloud scientifically when you can name it emotionally!?!? “MY LOVE” that’s what that cloud is! “BEAUTY” that’s the other clouds name!! This earth is so beautiful.

I walked the beach with my headphones in. My toes curing through the sand and slashing through the ripples that kiss the surface. My music was sad and understanding. I watched the world spill around me. I felt like I was a ghost and I loved the feeling. I realized…these people will not know they saw you, maybe you’ll reappear in a dream because they’re brain remembers you subconsciously but they do NOT know you and they will NOT know that you died. I peered into all of their lives. The smiling girls walking by, the young children running ahead of their mother toward the waves, people lounging in the sun along the beach, every. Single. Person. Had. A. Story. And I couldn’t know it and that’s what killed me. I wanted to know them. I thought “well I bet they know Selena Gomez” but who is she? Just a pop artist. Nothingeven remotely important in the defintion of the world and that’s the truth. But they don’t know me. I wanted to introduce myself and dance through the waves and swim until my bones hurt and I wanted to run and know ballet and flip through the air and feel free but I felt kept. I felt so jarred. And that’s because I am. No one does what’s right anymore. People say..well…if the other person is doing it why not join in. Because we’re not okay enough the dive in first because if the first person dies you don’t want that to be you. But what happened to the risk takers? No. Not the risk takers. We made that term for the people who actually live life. Who aren’t afraid to dream! They plunge in and let go and they know that they are safe and if not, then that’s life! We die and start over. That’s just it. People say “if you commit suicide,you’re going to hell”. These people want something to believe in. So they throw it on something that they can’t prove but will follow blindly. I hate religion. Instead of religion being a happy thing, like it’s supposed to be…it destroys people,kills people, murders children, destroys families,destroys everything,like a domino. One thing falls,then the next and then bam, we’re in what the people call a “war.” Sad isn’t it? Religion is supposed to be something you can put your faith in? Something you can follow blindly and then when it’s your time,hope what you believe in is on the other side. I believe in nothing but believe in something. I can believe in everything if I wanted to! But you know what…I might get killed for saying that. Sad. Very very sad. The world is poisioned and theirs no way to fix it. The problem is too big and people are too stubborn to make a change. Remember that thing Kony? Everyone listened and wanted to make a change only because it went viral on the internet. But once it disappeared, no one spoke of the children who were murdered or pulled into war as soldiers. No one ever spoke of them. Because in this world it’s only what’s popular. Because naturally we went to be the biggest and the strongest and the healthiest because that’s life! Survival of the fittest,yes? But what happened to humanity? Call me a tree hugger or whatever you would like but this life I have…is not it. I could sit here and say all my goodbyes to my friends and family but it’s not goodbye. I’ll see you all again. We will all see eachother again! I know that’s true. I know it is. Our souls will find eachother when we are reborn and old enough. I promise you that I will find you. I will find everybody. But we will all have new stories to tell and new lives and new birth marks to show and more and more to uncover! That’s the beautiful part that everyone missed. The energy in us does NOT die. We die and then roam…and find a new being to be. It’s beautiful.

I’m not missing time in my life because…life is larger than anything and life never dies. The word “die” was only out there by scientists who couldn’t believe in something like immortality. Everyone on this damned earth is immortal and you better believe it. You my friend never die, just the body, just the home you live in. But YOU never die. YOU LIVE! So try things and fail and hurt and go through hell and if you die, so what? I promise you safety little one. I promise! We are aliens on this planet, more alien then the next! We are people. We are humans.

Never Finished (another)

I ran a mile and a half before my legs gave in beneath me. I stopped on the side of the road, my head swung back, hands on my hips and chest to the hair. The rush of cold air spilled into my welcoming lungs. I pressed my gloves to my lips and blew out a long heave of warm breath against my palms. The heat radiating off my body would melt the snow around me if I decided to take a seat right next to the mailbox. The latch seemed permanently glued but with a few tugs and a kick, the lid dropped open and I searched for the Sunday newspaper, along with the regular side of bills my mother was kindly putting off to the side for the moment. I flipped through every single envelope. Electricity, Be a Republican, Cable and New York. A letter from New York meant a letter from Jerry, I tossed that one out in the garbage pails on the way inside.

“I’m back.” My voice felt muffled by the bellowing heat that swarmed the walls of the house. “Char?” a urgent but sweet voice called from the stairs to my right. “Yeah.” I responded back, dropping the envelopes on the dining room table and heading for the kitchen. The click clack of heels followed behind me. I fished out the last clean bowl from the cabinet, the little bit of milk left in the fridge, coco puffs and a slim silver spoon from drawers

Never finished.

“She’s not breathing.”

 

My body feels light and my head feels airy, I feel as if I could fly away. I could soar through the sky, spinning through the clouds and falling with the wind.

 

“More oxygen.”

 

My toes feel cold against the city’s winter sidewalks. Small pebbles and dirt stick to the bottom of my feet as I walk. I run my fingers along every street sign, remember every face that walks beside me and every shoulder that bumps my side.

 

“God please…don’t take her now.”

 

I’m not breathing. My chest is not rising. My chest is not falling. But I’m alive. People glare at my bare feet, eyebrows curved into a worried look for a young woman walking alone with no shoes just before midnight.

 

“You need to work faster. Hand me the…”

 

Lily. My name softly floats through one ear and through the other, shooting a warm sensation down my spine and piercing my heart like a fishing hook. Caught. Sunk. Dead.

 

“She can make it. She has to, I know…”

 

The voice has a delicate sound, almost as if an angel was desperately trying to capture my attention. Lily. I faint but I don’t hit the ground. Before my eyes shut, a group of men wrap their arms around my own, carrying my limp body against theirs. I catch one familiar face through a glimpse. “Barrett…” I whispered. His glistening emerald eyes flashed over me like a spotlight in the dark.

 

“Save her.”

 

He saved me.

 

Three days before.

 

We spent the nights in father’ old barn, cramped between each other and the hay. The blankets stuck to our sides like glue, our jackets zipped up to our chins. I tended to Claire’s side as much as possible. At first, we all believed it was just a cold that she was suffering from but then, she actually began to suffer. She was paler than the snow that covered the ground and colder than the wind that came with the storm. She was getting sicker. I hand fed her soup,shared my blanket and held her tiny body against my chest. Her shivering kept me up through the night, influencing my thoughts and encouraging a fear inside my heart that I refused to face. Sometimes, I oftened held her away from myself but kept her in my arms just so I could watch her sleep. She seemed peaceful but I knew whatever she was facing, was horrifyingly terrible. Claire couldn’t speak but she could scream and cry. Every third hour came the screaming, followed by the crying, triggering the shaking. She became our internal clock. 3:00 AM screaming,check on the fire, 6 AM screaming,time to gather more wood, 9:00 AM screaming,time for everyone to wake. It was Wednesday and we were running out of food, I had to take the risk of hiking to the nearest grocery store. Becks took care of Claire while I was gone, he was much larger than her and most likely radiated more heat than I ever could. “Don’t forget your rifle.” He said, his voice piercing the silent barrier that swarmed over us for weeks. I nodded,grabbed my bag, double checked it for all of my supplies,reloaded my rifle and took off through the woods. “Goodbye.” I whispered, my voice crushed by the pillow of white that appeared every time I exhaled. You never knew when it was your last day, a goodbye was always needed.

The crush of twigs and snow beneath my feet reminded me I was not dead. The hoot of the occasional owl, the whine of a hungry coyote and the sway of the dying trees made the world seem more alive than I had seen in weeks. I kept my hair inside my jacket for warmth, the tips of my black crown of glory reaching all the way to my mid back. My mother loved my hair, my father loved my eyes.I had my mother’s eyes and my father’s hair color, I was a sign of their undying love for eachother, a bridge between their affection. Lily Grace Abel, the living proof that two humans could love, the living proof that their love still existed…even when they’re dead.

I pushed the thought out of my head and felt a cold tingle slide down my cheek. Crying is for the weak and you are not weak,Lily. You are not weak. I nodded at the remembrance of my mother’s words as I made it to the road. Traveling along the road was risky, it made you an easy target. “I’m right here! Shoot me!” It almost said but I had no other choice, the tree line ended where the city started.

The crunch of pebbles beneath my black boots was the only sound I could hear for miles. I loosened my scarf so that I could wrap it just below my eyes and lowered my black knit cap to just above my eyebrows. I didn’t want my face to be recognizable. They could be watching but not willing to attack, they knew I would be back, they knew they could wait. My bag hugged the small of my back and my rifle kicked against my shoulder. I kept one hand on my weapon at all times. If you didn’t, their was a chance you wouldn’t survive. I could see the muggy grey shade reflecting against the clouds, the city was close and I could see the buildings climbing in the distance when I heard the spitting sound of a helicopter over head.

My adrenaline kicked in with the swing on my rifle into both hands. The roads were flat but my eyes refused to stop searching for even the slightest ditch. Spotted. I ran 10 feet to my right and slid down on my stomach where the ground in front of me was slightly higher than myself. The helicopter was nearly 250 feet away and close to the ground. I lifted my rifle to the side of my face and looked through the microscope. I could see three of them.A pilot, a co pilot and one scoping out the land from the stomach of the helicopter. “Where are you going?” I whispered into the snow, the heat of my breathe melting the thinnest layer of ice beneath my lips.

I waited twenty minutes in the snow,watching the helicopter disappear into the size of an ant over the city and then waited twenty more. I began walking, keeping a faster pace and going over the directions of what streets to follow in my head. Take a left up 4th avenue, right at 84th and up the block and over.

I slid across the sides of the buildings, rifle glued to my face with my finger bouncing against the trigger. I watched all around me, taking in every detail. I looked to see if the street lights were swaying, if their was anything but the ruffling sound of my jacket around me or if any shadows could be spotted moving from the windows above. The entire mission had to be done in one swift movement, one step out of place could cost me my life. I bent my body around the corners, rifle sticking out before myself and then running to the next building. When “Johny’s Market” came into site, my heart skipped with joy.My brain smacked my heart into shape, “focus you idiot” It said. Exposing myself to food markets created two enemies, one being other hungry civilians and them,the

Changed Ending.

I took the beginning of the story I uploaded before this one and transformed the ending to be fitted for a creative writing assignment. I don’t like this ending, its interesting but short and not what I preferred but still enjoyable.

Lightning Blue Eyes and Frosted Blush

She sits at the edge of her coffee table. Her tea cooling in the afternoon air, her shiny new book resting under her wrists. She’s not reading. Her headphones are in and she’s listening to the most beautiful symphony,Stokkseyri by Jónsi and Alex. She’s tired. I can see it. I can also see the pain she’s hiding. The pain that sits so deep in her chest, so deep in her heart, so painfully hidden. Rescue her? Maybe. Maybe I could. But to find the pain? I don’t know. A steady eyed look seemed more permanent than temporary above her cheekbones. I couldn’t help but notice the small rip in her white t shirt. I wonder how that got there.

I watch her from across the room, my gaze hidden behind the mass of a book about the ocean floor. She seems so lost. So lost yet so found, as if she belonged in that metal black chair leaning against the round orange table. She looked so steady. So steady but so unstable. She knew her place in the world. From my perspective at least. There was just something missing. Something bruised. Something…broken. I couldn’t tell if It was her or something that had happened. Maybe the pain had made her that way or maybe…she was just…that way. Her eyes flicker up from the floor and I turn my eyes back to the pages of the book sitting carefully in my hands. I don’t think she notices.

 

I notice. He couldn’t be more obvious. I couldn’t care any less. I watch his gaze leap from between the pages of the book to my table sitting in the corner of the room. Maybe it would be less obvious that he wasn’t reading if the book wasn’t upside down. Stupid boy. I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that I caught his eye but I kept that inside. No care,no pain.

That’s how it goes. I ran my fingers slowly over the front cover of my book. Splintered by A.G. Howard. A book about a girl who can talk to insects and flowers but is afraid she will be labeled insane, thrown into an institution like family members before her. Funny how that works. A power, a strange indifference could throw away your life. Land you in a cell with cuffs around your wrists. A power is a beautiful thing. Yet people with them, hide them or pretend they don’t exist because if they do, boom. Gone. Institution or needle to the arm. A one way ticket to the Heaven we think we know.

I lift my gaze from the fluorescent green cover and catch his eye. He smiles. I want to smile. But I don’t. Then I leave.

 

I couldn’t stop myself. I ran after her. I could see her passing by each book shelf, a moment of seeing her and then a moment gone and then her reappearance. Before she could head out the door, I put my hand on the handle and stopped her. She was even more beautiful up close. Lightning blue eyes and rich brown hair that ran over her pale skin unbelievably lightly. “Hi.” I choked.

 

Oh, he was so bad at this. I remained stern. “Yes?” I responded, standing up straight and looking dead into his eyes.

 

I have to say, for a girl half my size she was the most intimidating person I had ever encountered. I was beyond drawn to her.

 

“Well?” I said after a moment of silence.

 

“Yes. I uh, I really like that book. A lot.” Lame. So lame.

 

“Ah, I see. Yeah. It’s okay.”

 

“Can I…?”

 

“Buy me a coffee? Yes, you have 20 minutes to impress me.”

We went back to her table. She took the money straight out of my hand and bought the coffee herself. She carried herself so greatly, as if she was the queen of the world and could conquer anything that faced her. She was tough.

 

So weak. So blindly weak. I had never met someone so vulnerable to attraction. His efforts were cute, the half smile he gave me here and there, the light pink of blush that frosted his cheeks when he thought I wasn’t looking. He was cute.

 

I told her where I was from, where I was going to school and about my future. She couldn’t have cared less. Her eyes were glued to the lip of her coffee cup. It was like I didn’t exist until she puckered her lips and placed her coffee on the table.

 

“What are you passionate about?”

 

“What?”

 

“What do you love unconditionally?”

 

Her question caught me by surprise. I didn’t necessarily know. I thought about it for a moment. “Language. I really want to learn a ton of languages. I love interaction.”

 

“No doubt about that.” I giggled. Damn.

 

She laughed. Wow. “Yeah, and I really want to see the world and I love to write plays.”

 

“Well then, what are you doing here? Why are you not in Europe?”

 

“School. Life, I guess. I’m glued to the system.”

 

Her eyes filled with rage. “Take me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lets go. Come on. I need to pack and so do you.”

And with her power and determination, we were in Paris by morning. Falling in love. Married within the year. The pain I had seen in her that day in the coffee shop faded: her defensive attitude withered.

“And that’s our love story.” I said to Charlie, our first born with the same lightning blue eyes I saw on her that very day in the book store.

 

“Thats our love story.” I said reassuringly to my husband, looking back at our five year old and noticing the same gentleness I saw in him that very day in the book store.

Possible beginning of a book I forgot about weeks ago.

Note: I was sitting in Barnes & Noble drinking hot green tea wishing  a cute boy would enter and catch my gaze.

She sits at the edge of her coffee table. Her tea cooling in the afternoon air, her shiny new book resting under her wrists. She’s not reading. Her headphones are in and she’s listening to the most beautiful symphony,Stokkseyri by Jónsi and Alex. She’s tired. I can see it. I can also see the pain she’s hiding. The pain that sits so deep in her chest, so deep in her heart, so painfully hidden. Rescue her? Maybe. Maybe I could. But to find the pain? I don’t know. A steady eyed look seemed more permanent than temporary above her cheekbones. I couldn’t help but notice the small rip in her white t shirt. I wonder how that got there.

I watch her from across the room, my gaze hidden behind the mass of a book about the ocean floor. She seems so lost. So lost yet so found, as if she belonged in that metal black chair leaning against the round orange table. She looked so steady. So steady but so unstable. She knew her place in the world. From my perspective at least. There was just something missing. Something bruised. Something…broken. I couldn’t tell if It was her or something that had happened. Maybe the pain had made her that way or maybe…she was just…that way. Her eyes flicker up from the floor and I turn my eyes back to the pages of the book sitting carefully in my hands. I don’t think she notices.

 

I notice. He couldn’t be more obvious. I couldn’t care any less. I watch his gaze leap from between the pages of the book to my table sitting in the corner of the room. Maybe it would be less obvious that he wasn’t reading if the book wasn’t upside down. Stupid boy. I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that I caught his eye but I kept that inside. No care,no pain.

That’s how it goes. I ran my fingers slowly over the front cover of my book. A book about a girl with special powers that allows her to communicate with individuals from other dimensions but is immediately dragged away from the public and prepped for experiments.Funny how that works. A power, a strange indifference could throw away your life. Land you in a cell with cuffs around your wrists. A power is a beautiful thing. Yet people with them, hide them or pretend they don’t exist because if they do, boom. Gone. Institution or needle to the arm. A one way ticket to the Heaven we think we know.

I lift my gaze from the fluorescent green cover and catch his eye. He smiles. I want to smile. But I don’t. Then I leave.

Dear Diary Assignment #1

In a creative writing class I took the teacher wanted us to write about an event that took place in the area we live in. This story was definitely edited, we only ran for about 5 minutes of our journey .

Dear Diary,

Last month my friend Bridget and I decided to take a morning run on the rail trail to make our way into town for breakfast. My cheeks were flushed in a ruby pink from the whip of the wind against my bare skin. Freezing, I kept my hat hugged against my forehead, sitting just above my eyebrows and my scarf wrapped tightly around the crown of my neck. Small scattered groups of people walking their curious dogs who barked at our feet passed us by several times, along with a few stragglers of individuals quietly enjoying the dull rays of the sun and the cold bite of the oncoming winter on their skin. The crisp snaps of breaking branches, the hum of town just several feet away with the bustle of running leaves absorbed the silence of our run. Talks of friends,in laws and hushed gossip nipped at my ears as the go-byers continued to pass us. From time to time, if a conversation made the two of us giggle through our heavy scarves and stuffy noses, we mimicked the stranger’s voice with their talk of “I think he’s kind of cute” and “Jerry wouldn’t do that” babbling.

Bridget and I admired the small window shops, some neatly organized and others lacking creativity. Displayed jackets and other weather attire surrounded by small Christmas decorations and white paint made into small wisps of falling snow caught our attention, bringing our feet to a stop. The smell of grease and warm foods filled the streets with the close and opening swing of the doors to the stores beside us. We both stopped at the large front doors of Starbucks on the bending tip of town to warm our tongues and murder our goosebumps with a cup of hot brewed coffee and warm,flakey croissants. A rush of sweet vanilla and pumpkin spices swarmed our nostrils, luring us closer and closer to the register.

We casually sipped our flavored coffee and licked our fingers of crescent residue to the sound of college students humming to their favorite songs and people discussing business over chai tea. The mood was refreshing and completely fulfilling after our long journey in the cold. The shop reeked of desperation for gooey Christmas songs, wrapped presents and winter scents as the workers decorated the walls in red boas and dangling christmas lights. The bustle of socializing people, careful sips of coffee and rising laughter gave the both of us a sense of comfortability in the coffee shop, so much we dreaded the idea of running back home.

After roasting our cheeks back to their normal shade of paleness and decreasing the size of our swollen,freezing fingers, we decided to adventure back through town and home. Sharing sweet hellos and kind waves to the rest of the strangers we may never see again on the rail trail put us both in a great mood where the cold was barely noticeable. Bridget discovered a dip in the side of the trail that lead down to the lip of the river below. I took a seat on a nearby rock and she swung her legs over the sides of a lopsided tree to take in the reflection of the clouds over the water. After a few pictures of the landscape and each other, we ventured back onto the trail, running harder and faster to avoid the continuously dropping temperature.

The cloud of warmth swallowed us in the pit of its stomach as we raced through the front door. After a cup of tea and two or three handfuls of chocolate covered pomegranates, our morning journey was a success. Exhausted from the cold and hard run, I slipped into bed after bridget left and decided I am lucky to live in such a town with great friends.