I hadn’t really seen the world, not before I met you. Before I met you the world was all cars and buses and trains and concrete and stiff. Honestly I looked, without ever seeing, but I only realized that after the fact. I met you sometime in September, I remember because the way the leaves smelled as they carpet the sidewalks is imprinted onto my memory. That’s first time I really experienced anything, that first time in the park with you. We met by mistake, my dog was running around like the lunatic he is and knocked your phone flying across the grass.

You’d been sitting down on a blanket, fingers running delicately across the pages of the book you were reading. It took me a moment to realize and then I really felt awful. Approaching slowly, not wanting to startle to dog at your side, I apologized for my own dogs behavior and handed you, or rather the dog, your phone. You patted the dogs head and cooed something I can’t quite recall, but that’s only because I was taken away by your beauty. Piercing blue eyes, even with the clouds there, and blond hair that fell down your back and rested on your shoulders comfortably. You had the build of an athlete and the demeanor of someone quite content with the world. A surprise to me nonetheless.

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Based on this post

The blood coming down her face was her own. The body before her was not. The world was disintegrating around her and yet victory had never tasted so bitter. A grim smile pulled at her lips but it felt hollow, lifeless, there was no victory here and yet the smile lingered.

Was it because she knew that, finally, this was the end?

Or that she was too drained to escape, and this final implosion would take her down and away from the hell she’d existed in?

She looked at her hands again and watched her fingerprints fly into the destruction before her. She felt her scars lift from her, felt her bones creak and groan in exhaustion, they had been working for far too long. She was dying and for all the times she’d watched this happen, this slow pulling apart of everything that made verified a being’s existence, it was not as painful as she had imagined. (what did that say about who, or what, she’d become)

More blood dripped down her face, memories began to flash and flutter past her eyes, canvassing them so all she could see were the lives she’d lived. Dying had never made her feel more alive. 

The premise of these is that I put my Spotify on shuffle and use the song as inspiration to write a piece. I have only the length of the song to write and the POVs vary from piece to piece. 

Sexy Can I- Ray J

Bo knows that she’s going get laid the moment she gets home. Kezi is gone and Lauren has been sending incredibly x-rated pictures since she broke into the so dubbed crack shack. Although these days it’s less crack shack and more actual home, something that she mostly unfamiliar with. She takes her time walking up the stairs, making sure to step on all loose floor boards and taunting the good doctor as best she can. (although Bo knows in only a few minutes it’ll be she who’s getting taunted—not that she minds).

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I write to bring the emotions out in people that I bring out in myself. I am in the quest to write the piece that makes my readers cry with me, laugh with me, love with me. 

I. Introduction to Clara and Alex

She held your hand. She didn’t know what to do the first time she saw you cry, so she slumped down the wall next to you and held your hand. Amidst your tears and the roiling emotions you could feel her hesitation, the slow way her fingers slid across you palm, as if at any moment you were going to shy away. She wasn’t sure if it was her place to comfort you, to hold you together in these fragile moments. She did anyway though, she sat out in the hotel hallway, held your hand, and the longer you sat, and cried, the more confident she became. When you leaned against her, she moved her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her.

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I jumped into you

And drowned, watching

The life raft you throw

veer to my left

and I bobbed

in the blue dark

and I sank

in the black

and I loved you

all the while 

We met,

In the blue dark, in the half light

Of a semi-state of mind.

I reached for your air and

Skimmed the surface of your soul as

You shivered in my arms and I

Brushed against your beating heart, my

Fingers wrapping around what was

And will never be mine.

I love you

I hate you

I love you

I swear.

But now,

In the shadows of memories and the

Echoes of the future,

I can feel your mouse heart flutter

Rabbit fast, and

It takes me back.

Back to lemonade summers and

Crystal white winters, when we

Were we and not you versus me.

I love you

I hate you

I love you

I swear.

But baby, my love,

We are standing in the most dark

Your face buried in my shoulder and

I can feel you tremble.

It’s the scared you get when

Thunder rumbles and the

lightening illuminates your fears

But it’s a perfect night

And still

You’re trembling

I promised,

I promise

To hold you

Even now, in the full dark

With the ache in my being

Because

I love you

I hate you

I love you

I swear.

I look to my left and see the lights of the place I call home. Between me and the comfort I seek is the dark, a void that reflects my insecurities and the knowledge of ages. It’s strange how I ended up here and

I want to jump

Into the black and see what happens

I want to fall into the void and lay there

Maybe it’s twisted

Maybe I’m wrong

But I want to make a difference

And I want to make a name 

You were knee deep in desperation when you saw her for the first time. You caught your first glimpse of her in passing. She was all blond hair, captivating crystal eyes and a flurry of Portuguese that you only understood half of. Christ, your heart nearly stopped when her eyes slid over yours and your camera and she stumbled over the words suddenly caught in her throat. It only lasted a moment, a fleeting smile that made you blush and twitch, before she was sucked away into the evening rush. Too late your fingers fumbled for the record button on your camera and you panned the chaos hoping for a miracle. 

You saw her once, in passing. She was all dark hair, captivating, angry eyes and a flurry of Italian that you only understood half of. Christ. Your heart nearly stopped when her eyes slid over yours and she stumbled over the words caught in her throat. Then she was gone, just another New Yorker caught and lost in the moment.