excerpt from a book i’ll never write #45

The beer bottle rolled from one end of the table to the next, leaving a trail of carbonated amber leftovers where it stopped. Smoke tumbled from the glass ashtray next to the glass bottle, and her heart silently shattered like glass, too.

She whispered through tears over the roaring TV and his labored breaths, “come closer.” The air moving in his lungs was tainted with that God-awful acrid smell.

“Do you like me?” His question seemed irrelevant, but when she looked into his eyes she saw something brutally honest. She saw a flash of fear; something he never would have let be seen if he were sober.

“Don’t be an idiot and just come closer.” His hand fell on her head and he kissed her cheek and wondered who in God’s name could have made her heart hurt so damn much.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #28

It was only one night, but his hands running down her back and his lips on her neck seem to be a broken record in her head. It’s not that she misses his smell or the spark of his skin on hers; she craves touch. Any touch. She craves the touch of his arm on hers or their fingers laced. She misses the touch of his breath on her ear as he whispers sweet nothings. But a “he” is just that, and any he will do, and it’s one thing to be alone but another to be lonely. It’s 1:05 in the morning and she’s drunk but he’s the only one on her mind. And him, and him too. Her head spins and her ears are ringing with the words she should have screamed aloud a long time ago, but the worst thing about falling to pieces is that humans do it so quietly. No one hears her heart crack or the soft patter of dripping blood on new, white sheets, and no one can hear her mismatched breaths as she tries to find someone a little better than him. She’s lying in her bed, in her house, and all she wants to do is go home.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #26

And with those eyes, you could have set the sky on fire, but you chose to burn me instead; together we burned.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #25

People are not rain or snow or autumn leaves. They are not beautiful when they fall. People are more of a hurricane, with tsunami waves coming in all directions; tears so powerful that they drag you down to the dirty depths and you’re scared no one can find you again. Trapped under the misty light that comes through six feet of water over your head, you wonder if this is what it’s like to die.

But no, you are terrified. And death is not something to be afraid of.

I hope we all find a way to calm down someday, taking the swirling winds of the hurricane to something of a subtle drizzle.