rabidcaribou

Who knew the brush of fingertips could be translated Not into words; but into sensations not felt with the hands Sensations felt with the heart and soul as flutters and pauses Pauses that seem to last a lifetime but occur in a breath A whisper containing the weight of every moment like this one So seemingly concrete I can almost hold them in my palm And count them as a measure of how much our love is worth Priceless artifacts of our history not yet dusty in their youth Slipping through my fingers in their already overwhelming numbers Settling back into our memories still warm from my touch To be recalled as a beginning to our once u

Title: Butterflies wish they could be like you. I've always sympathized with the moth Butterflies of the night Competing with their sunlit counterparts Their graceful beauty gifted by God I've waited my whole life For the cacoon to set me free Only to realize this is it Doomed to the shadows of "if only" But that's okay Because you're light is worth it all Loving you is like oxygen Like a moth to the flames And you make me feel Like even butterflies should be ashamed When I'm with you, all ese fades And I'm not so ordinary anymore

My back hits the firm surface of the stretcher. I struggle to keep my eyes open to the aftermath. The air smells of blood. The pavement is bathed in broken glass and the flashing blue and red lights of emergency vehicles. “I want my mom.” My throat is dry and scratchy. A masculine voice responds. “I’m sorry. There’s no other room on the chopper.” They wheel me toward the helicopter waiting to take me to the hospital. I groan in protest.

She is done Looking at his things. Deciding to box them up. Return them to him. Letters. Stuffed toys. Photographs. Everything. Except the leather wristband That once carved her wrist Every day For a year. Faded. Brown. Worn. His favorite possession. Tossed atop the dresser. Absent from the box. Her revenge.

My map is torn And my compass broken, The glass in fragments At my feet. The blank pages of The calendar upon the wall Are quickly turning Of their own accord. I sleep through the day, Tossing and turning, Though my eyes Are wide open. The alarm clock Keeps ringing as The hands keep spinning Though they are frozen. The seasons change As the leaves fall And the flowers bloom All in the same moment. I’ve lost the keys to The padlock hanging on The hasp of the door that stands In front of and behind me.