Mom would shake me awake on a cold snowy Sunday to fetch fresh, warm doughnuts and rolls from the 49th avenue bakery which I hated, but today if she were here I would be most happy to do it.

Dad coming home from work each day meant scurrying about picking up the toys and making the house presentable. Her way of cleaning was hastily tossing things under beds and into closets. Cleaning wasn't her thing. 

She liked her thick Folgers coffee.  She loved her solitude in the mornings with it. Like me, you were asked to "please don't talk to me until I have had my coffee". Just a "splash" of milk. 

She loved lemon meringue pies, blueberry and peach cobblers, and apple crisp  that only she could perfectly bake. I can still see her licking her fingers.

She burned chocolate chip cookies EVERY TIME. Dad loved his chocolate chip cookies so that became my job over the years. Made with fresh butter and the best chocolate chunks, I baked them with love and tucked them into tins and mailed them to my sweet dad when I moved away.  He loved that, and he wouldn't share them.

She was an excellent cook. The house always smelled good and the fridge was always full! 

She hated her hair touched and never put her makeup on her forehead, she was quirky like that.

I remember her giving me home perms and what didn't fit on the roller got cut off! I always cried after my hair was done as she thought I was cute!

My pierced ears are crooked because of her. Ice cubes, needle and thread. Yep, that's how we used to do it. I remember that day. I chuckle every time I put my grandmothers earrings in. 

I remember the time she blew up the pressure cooker with spaghetti and meatballs in it! I remember the resulting kitchen painting that followed. 

I remember avocado green was her favorite color. 

When she was young she loved shoes. High heeled shoes. I used to try them on. She had small feet. 

She loved peony bushes. 

I remember how soft her hands were and how soft her lips were the last time she kissed me. She was good at being warm and showing affection. I guess I got that from her. No one escapes the hugs here either.

I stopped to look at birthday cards last week. Her feelings would have been hurt if I had not sent a card and called. It was weird not bringing one home. Maybe I should have sent a card to the stranger who now lives in her house...

So many little things about my momma I woke up thinking about this morning. Sweet things. Little things. Unorganized thoughts. 

I'll see her this morning when I look in the mirror. I look like her. It makes me smile. I see her in my sisters. She left a lot of herself with us, inside of us. 

We're good people because of her.  She was always good to people. She always did the right thing. She was always loving and warm.  She was a good listener. She was generous with her time. 

I'll be thinking of her today, as I do every day, and I miss her more than I could ever say. Today would have been her 76th birthday. She was my favorite April fool! April 1, 1941.  Pearl Harbor was bombed later that same year. 

I was laying in bed at 6:00 writing this. I will get up now and watch the sunrise and try to do it without crying. 

I will miss my mother until I draw my last breath. No "Happy Birthday", I refuse to say it. I promise I will think of you every minute of every day. ❤️

18 December 2017

Musings of a post menopausal insomniac

The darkness was filled with red. I was standing there, staring at the blank spaces of my life. She was also there, but lost. A cold drop of salty water trailed down her cheek and I shivered in horror and discomfort.

“Say it! Don’t be afraid dear.” I said. My words terribly shaking as I managed to put them down in a sentence. She sobbed once, twice, thrice. Every tear drop of hers was digging the hole in my chest wider and deeper. But she was just staring at nothingness. Her silence was stabbing me.

“You did this?” I shouted, to bring her back from her darkness to the darkness filled with red. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I……w….was…….”

“You did this or not?”

She lowered her head in a yes but was never able to raise it again. I grabbed her sweating hand and paced out of the room.

The darkness was filled with red, gushing out of the dead body. I left the corpse and the darkness behind. But her darkness never left her behind. It comes back to her every time she hears the red police siren roar.

I should have been stronger to fight the darkness not to run away from it. I should have left my daughter in the darkness to get rid of her darkness.

She gazed up at the twinkling cosmos, the Milky Way smeared on the dark horizon. Then, a flash of light and movement streaked across the inky expanse. Her breath hitched; heart stopped. And, in an instant, it was gone, leaving her with only a feeling of wonder and joy for the infinite universe.

Voices.

Visions.

Spirits.

Demons.

Darkness.

Shadows.

Coldness.

Hide and go seek.

Bumps at night.

Doors always open.

Unexplainable occurences.

Anger.

Insanity.

Sadness.

Dead.

Alive.

Halfway here.

Halfway gone.

There but not really.

They come out.

Come out to play.

To play with us.

Play with our minds.

With our minds and sanity.

Insanity.

.

scars have the strange power

to remind us that our past is real

- Cormac McCarthy

The hospital, early morning.

2 days later.

A memory slowly breaks through my beaten-up mind as the soles of my shoes scrape lightly against the linoleum floors, fluorescent lights showing of my tired complexion. Without much power left to block it, the scene starts to play out in my head as if it’s all happening now and not two nights before. It’s like filtering through time, reliving every word and sensation.

I see myself walking out of the bar through the back entrance, the door closing behind me, sounds of music, and shouts subsiding. I almost feel the chill of Autumn in my bones, clouds of warm air escaping my mouth as I watch my body from far away. And then I hear it; a sound of a phone connection disturbing the dark night after my fingers dial up a familiar number, voice loud and clear, the memory of it ringing in my ears.

“I need to explain to you what’s been going on with me, face to face because there is no other way I can do it. And if you won’t let me in, I’ll understand that, it’s what I deserve anyway”.

The scene keeps playing out in my head as my senses let me know that I’m not really there. The sounds of the hospital breaking through the images that fill my thoughts.

I watch as I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket. The cold air moves around me, stinging my skin but not affecting me much. I feel numb and a bit terrified of what I was going to do, of the confrontation that awaited me. More scared than when I lied on the floor of the old house, raving in pain, and waiting for the end, clawing my way out of this world.

Something sinks in my chest at the thought of that moment. I felt extra vulnerable then, exposed. That day at Phil’s bar, when I just hang out there a couple of hours getting familiar again with my list of new responsibilities, I left her a message on the voice mail. The hour was late, and the possibility that she was still awake and that she would pick up were close to zero. It was the way I preferred it. If she answered the call, I might not have said a word and just hang up after a prolonged silence. So, I chose this hour on purpose, a sort of a compromise with myself in the hope that I wouldn’t chicken out at the last second. Maybe I was being childish about it, but I had already lost so much in my life, I didn’t want to lose even more. I just couldn’t.

Not long after, I came back inside the bar just to hear the sounds of the karaoke machine waking up to life, the first people already choosing their favorites. I was groaning, trying not to remember the time when my attitude brought me to the top of the bar, hips swaying to the first tones of ABBA’s classical number. Give me a man after midnight roaring from the speakers with full blast. It was one of those precious moments when you wish you actually had blacked out. Especially when you can’t carry even one tune without luring all the neighborhood cats in, possible sounds of glass breaking on their way. But the music that played that day was loud, and by that time people didn’t care much anyway. An attractive girl on the bar making a fool out of herself worked just fine for the entertainment part any night.

_____

My thoughts are a bit hazy as I walk up to him, gazing at his face and slowly regaining my focus, a lot of things roaming around in my tired brain and not just that memory. It’s been a long night and an even longer shift, my first one this week. It happened faster than I thought, getting back to the job at the bar but as soon as I finished talking to Gloria, I was determined to push my life forward whatever was left from it, even if just for now. I’ve been very persistent with Phil about the fact that I’m working there if he likes it or not, not really playing with my charms but with the demanding part of me that normally didn’t show off too much as I wasn’t a big fan of people in general. Though my newly regained boss wasn’t really fighting me on it, rather all too willing just to see me shut up. “Oh, just start the damn job already, you’ll do as you want anyway.” My head shakes as I return to the present, a smile still lingering on my lips.

Hey, you. I came to be restored and fully energized, so oil up this rusty tin woman with your tender greasy touch.

He’s writing something down lost in thought as my words break through to him gradually, looking up at me from the front of the reception desk, eyebrows slightly lifted while a young nurse in her early 20′s, looks up as well, evidently intrigued by what she hears. She’s sitting next to a computer, typing something without much enthusiasm, but more awake after hearing me speak. I send her a calm stare and she pretends to be busy with some patients’ cards that she fixes into a neat stack, tapping it against the countertop for effect. I try not to roll my eyes and turn my attention back to him.

So, do you have some spare time? Because I’m reporting to you as promised. All poised and behaving, just like a trained dog waiting for a treat from her master.

A smirk spreads on my lips as I gaze at the nurse while she pretends to be oblivious to the conversation, yet I know that she heard me loud and clear. My head turns back to Charlie, who sends me a very stern, patronizing expression. My shoulders shrug automatically. What? I was only human here, with all my bad attitude and behavior issues. It was a part of my nature that I could never resist or stop, not that I ever wanted to.

I’m glad that you came, you definitely need the medical attention with your condition, even at such hours. Then again, it’s a hospital, nothing new that we haven’t seemed here before. Right, Cortney?

He turns around to the girl, with a gentle smile and she clears her throat, nodding but not saying anything. She takes a plastic chart with her and rushes out, suddenly terribly busy, her long brown hair that’s neatly tied back jumping from side to side.

Will she come back, or did we scare her away for good?

She’s will be back, just checking out on a new patient at the end of the hall. I’m here, so she can do that. As long as someone is on the reception than it’s not a problem. We take shifts at this early hour, besides, it’s far less busy now.

I look around at the quiet space around me, only with the sounds of machines and voices occasionally calling out through the speakers, interrupting the steady silence. Just a few patients and nurses passing us by.

Mmm, yes.

He gazes at me slowly, then looks around carefully, judging how much audience we have as an older lady stares at him in her long pink gown and coughs a bit, dealing with a misbehaving IV stand as she tries to fish out something from her bag.

I have some spare time.

He says almost in a whisper and holds my wrist, his thumb rubbing against my skin. I try not to think how good that feels, or that the warm he sends through my skin seems to cause more things to me than before. Such comfort and safety, as if nothing else bad could happen to me. I wasn’t used to such feelings - I think as a low sigh of relief escapes my throat, the heightened sounds in my head calming down, a gentle glow spreading under my skin. His hand hesitantly let’s go of mine and I open my eyes. He didn’t want to let go. Always the caregiver and protector. My lungs expand as another sigh leaves my lungs, but this time it speaks of exhaustion. The first shift since I last worked at the bar, which was not including the helping-out transaction that I did there almost three days before, was really kicking in. This wasn’t the same body that is was just a year ago, this body had demons to fight with, my batteries slowly running out. Once again, my head shakes, mind refusing to linger in the darker thoughts and drifting back to him as if instinctively turning my face to the sun.

Why are you a nurse and not a doctor?

He looks up at me again, with a funny expression shifting his features. My hands lift up in surrender.

Hey, hey. I didn’t mean that neither in a bad or a good way. I’m simply curious, promise.

My gaze is calm as my eyes follow his. There was no double meaning in my question. My voice somehow turns softer when I speak.

I just want to know more about your life.

He nods at me slowly, something flickering in his eyes.

There isn’t that much to tell.

Well, I still want to listen.

Another nod and a little smile as he relaxes, opening up to me about things I didn’t know but really wanted to. Even if a part of me still fought with it, because why get too attached, you only get hurt in teh end. And yet, here I was, asking anyway, my life forever intertwined with his, no matter what would happen to me later. I watch as he leans in on the countertop and looks ahead and not really at me.

Because being a doctor is a very expensive profession, Nora.

I hear him sigh but don’t comment as to not interrupt him in case he would change his mind.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh. It’s just that it wasn’t always that simple in my life. Or maybe it never was but got more stable over time, the support of the people that care about me helping a lot in that. When I was in college, my family didn’t have much money, so even the classes I had and the payments for the next semesters were a struggle. But I worked at two jobs, so it wasn’t that bad, just exhausting a bit.

The corners of his lips move up and I notice a fade smile come up as it is evident that he is remembering something from his past that he held dearly. Like looking at sunrays filtering through thick clouds.

My grandmother had chipped in for nursing classes for me, even though I protested. My family wasn’t even aware that she had extra cash stocked away somewhere, only that she respected the value of money and had some small savings hidden away for a darker hour. She surprised me and wouldn’t take a no for an answer.

She sounds like a great person to have in your life.

My voice is still low as to not stop the flow of words coming from him, even though my mind told me he would finish what he started.

She is, very much so. My family doesn’t have any financial difficulties now, and they also helped me rent my flat, which later I decided to take a loan on, wanting it to be just mine. It will take me many years to pay it off, but having Robert around now helps with the payments. He’s a good brother, even with all his personality perks, and disgusting habits... like some I know.

He turns his head to finally look at me. I smile at him with warmth.

Thanks for answering the question.

Not a problem. Speaking of questions. How was your first night shift in months?

I groan at him and it causes his smile to spread rapidly.

There was bound to be a payback for this. Mmm, I both loved it and it kicked me off my feet, to the point where I don’t even know if I am standing right now or laying on the ground.

You’re standing, but barely from what I see.

He says, amused and once again my thoughts jump to last night. To the voice message I left, to the things, I still had to do. And before I can stop it, the images fill my mind while I try to keep my facial expression neutral. It happens more calmly this time, but something inside still rushes me forward, making sure I won’t back out this time. The old lady from before passes us as I snap back to life, her slippers making very distinct noises in the otherwise quiet surroundings.

Go for it, child. It’s obvious, that he likes you.

My eyebrows scrunch together, a bit surprised by her words as I notice that somewhere along the way I changed my position, leaning against the counter, much closer to him, almost bumping into his shoulder. I stare at her amused as she turns back to look at me.

Take your chance while you’re still young and don’t need to catch your breath every five steps. I will tell you, being old is such a pain in the royal queen’s ass. I should know, seen her on my honeymoon before Richard Nixon had a chance to even put a tail between his skinny legs after that blowout in his so-called political carrier. Talk about some shady waters*.

The innocent-looking and white her woman, in a very pink nightgown, chuckles and slowly disappears into a nearby bathroom. I gaze at Charlie, wide-eyed and burst out laughing, barely catching my breath.

Is this how your every morning shift looks like? Wow, I should come more often at this hour and bring snacks, and speaking off.

He looks at me, smiling. A little blush that I haven’t seen before subsiding now, my eyebrows raised at the sight.

I can’t leave the reception desk, sorry.

He extends his hands as if apologizing and I shake my head. I dig into my bag and throw a white paper bag on the counter. He looks at me curiously and opens it, a small smile creeping on his face.

Donuts?

Twelve of them, different kinds.

And we will eat all of those?

Oh no, I would say half of it, rest is for my special female friends. After all, I earn money now and can allow myself to go big.

Now his head shakes as he pulls out sugar-glazed donut with pink sprinkles, his eyebrow lifting.

Go big, huh?

I reach my hand into the bag and stuff my mouth shamelessly with a chocolate-covered version of heaven, ignoring the mild sarcasm, too familiar with that language to be bothered by it.

Yes, I went all the way in my beautiful and spoiled unhealthy ways.

That would sound better if the food wasn’t falling out of your mouth.

He dusts off some tiny crumbs from the desk and smiles at me. It’s my turn to act patronizing.

I don’t waste food, my scrubs wearing master. I would have got that, but you beat me to it.

You’re a disgusting creature sometimes.

He grins at me and I shrug.

I do my best to keep my company entertained.

My smile darkens as I make a little show and bow low, thinking of Scarlet Ohara and Red Butler, imagining at plenty of green velvet covering my silhouette. That kind of dress would sure make an impression on mister sweet care and smugness. Oh, how I would love to see that expression and make a mental picture, then blow it up and cover my living room wall with it. Suddenly, the smile sinks a bit as I think of the dress and of the clothes that still hang on me too loosely. He notices the change of mood and gazes at me questioningly.

What’s wrong? What were you thinking just now?

That velvet doesn’t like bony features.

Uhm... sorry, what?

I need to fill up, and food is the answer.

He gazes at me as I stuff my mouth with another donut with sprinkles, my low mood slowly evaporating.

Do you want to top that off with a burger and a double order of fries, washing it down with a strawberry milkshake?

Charlie, not so many sweet words at once, or I will be all over you just like the rest of the staff here, both male and female alike.

He groans at me and rearranges some papers, his stare falling to his watch, eyebrows furrowing.

Nora, I need to work. I’m going to wait until Cortney returns and then head for the morning staff meeting that should start in 20 minutes.

My hands lift in surrender.

By all means, I can handle myself and my stomach just fine, been doing it for years.

Will you be alright?

Charlie.

My hand reaches his, covering it lightly as he holds some documents in it, his eyes meeting mine.

Nothing bad is going to happen, trust me. I will get some takeout on my way home, relax, and then sleep for a long, long time. It’s what I’m good at, a high notch licensed procrastinator, you know that about me.

My fingers slip from his as I shove both of my hands into the pockets of my black jeans picked especially for working purposes, a black t-shirt to match under the jacket I was wearing. He sighs but nods, agreeing.

I worry about you, Nora. That’s all, just the way I’m build.

Mmm, true. And I appreciate it, but right now I’m leaving as my sarcastic persona does not take well any emotional vibes. It makes me stand in flames, just like in church when I was a kid.

I nod with all seriousness as he watches me, mouth already starting to open, which I ignore completely.

My mum did always hate when I turned to ash the Sunday dresses she bought me.

My steps sound loud as I leave the hospital, feeling his amused stare on my back as I smile to myself. I really liked that man, not only a savior but also my steady ground, a warm breeze when all I felt was cold. I wish that one day, I can repay him for all of his kindness, he deserves it more than anyone it the world.

_________

*The Watergate scandal was a political scandal in the United States involving the administration of U.S. President Richard Nixon from 1972 to 1974 that led to Nixon’s resignation.

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses

(chapter 1 )

Previous 3 chapters :

25. https://theprose.com/post/326382/the-ones-that-shape-us

26. https://theprose.com/post/335596/finding-steady-footing

27. https://theprose.com/post/340650/when-the-dust-settles

And thank you to everyone that still wants to know more about Eleonore and her story ;)

The sun shines golden through the branches of the plumeria tree and spreads warm across my back like a comforting hand, rubbing up and down along my spine and between my shoulders. I sit facing the open field of grass, waiting. I have been waiting all day, standing and sitting and pacing in the same place for hours, but I am still alone. I look down at the grass where a pile of paper cranes lay folded in a heap of colors and wings, and I feel a burning in the back of my throat. Flashes of crinkled eyes, soft hands, and berry-tinted smiles overwhelm me. I no longer have any of that. All I have now are my paper cranes and my memories.

When I was younger, my grandmother would take me to the park down the block for picnics. There was never a scheduled day for them and never a reason, just a desire to be with each other under the open sky. She would pack a basket full of strawberries and string cheese and tea and origami paper, and we would walk hand-in-hand to lounge on the pokey grass under our favorite tree. It wasn’t our favorite because it was the best, not by a long shot. It was our favorite because it was ours. And like so many other things, she made it feel special to sit there, under that sparsely flowered tree, eating and making stories out of the clouds. We would pass hours sitting in the grass and feeling the setting sun on our skin and the cool breeze settle in our lungs. We never spoke much of the world that lay outside our time together, not because it wasn’t important, but because we could never remember it when we lay next to each other.

One day in particular stands at the forefront of my mind whenever I think back on our picnics now. I was 10-years-old, too young to understand the importance of the moment, but looking back, the memory shines golden with long stretching shadows behind it.

My grandmother was just finishing her story about a brave warrior girl riding a dragon into battle in the sky above us when something caught her eye. She had stopped speaking so abruptly I thought something was wrong, but when I looked over to her, her eyes were wide and bright. I turned my eyes to the sky again, but saw nothing other than the separating body of the warrior girl in the clouds and a bird flying towards us.

“Nainai,” I called out to her. “What is it? Why did you stop the story?”

“Ni kan,” my grandmother replied. “Look at the sky, xiao gui. Do you see?”

I looked up again only to see the bird landing several feet away from us. I was about to tell my grandmother I couldn’t find what she wanted me to see, but she sat up and turned to look at the bird. I followed her up and looked too.

A white crane. Standing in the grass, searching for bugs to eat. 

“The bird?” I asked. Is that what she wanted me to see?

“No, not a bird, xiao gui,” she said. “This is a crane.”

I nodded. “Yeah, like the ones we make with our origami paper sometimes.”

“Dui, exactly,” my grandmother said with approval. “These cranes… they are special. Do you know why?”

I sat there, my fingers picking at the grass and my eyes focused on the bird. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, not particularly in the mood for any kind of story that didn’t involve the clouds.

“In our culture, the crane is a symbol of longevity and immortality. That means living forever, never dying. Very powerful, huh?” She looked at me and I nodded dutifully. Satisfied, she turned her eyes to the sky. “Spirits would ride their wings up to the heavens, and when they flew back down they would offer guidance to young heroes.” Her smile turned wistful. “But most importantly, xiao gui, cranes have been saving our family for generations.”

I was intrigued, clouds forgotten I asked, “What do you mean?”

“The times when I felt most lost in this world, when I felt there was no hope left, I would look outside and find a white crane standing in the grass or amongst the trees,” she said in a soft voice. “They are a message from my ancestors. I believe my mother’s spirit guides me through them, and she comes to remind me that peace always comes after great hardship.”

My grandmother inhaled deeply and looked to me again.

“When I was a little girl, like you, my mother told stories of cranes leading her from danger. She once told me a beautiful white crane made her stray from her path on the way home. It led her into the cover of a forest just before a group of thieving men came up the other side of the hill. Had she stayed on her way, she would have been robbed, or worse.”

I sat in the grass, staring at my grandmother before shifting my gaze back to the crane. “What is the crane here for now, nainai?”

At that, my grandmother gave a soft sigh before placing a warm and gentle hand between my shoulders. “She is here to remind us that there will be peace after hardship.”

It wasn’t until seven months later that I would learn my grandmother had cancer, that she was dying. Just like the golden memory of our picnic, I couldn’t understand the moment I was living in. All I knew was what she had told me, that there would be peace after hardship, and I held onto that as tightly as I held onto her.

We continued our picnics, but in a different way. We could no longer lie in the grass at the park, but we still ate strawberries and drank tea. And I made her paper cranes. I made one for her every time I visited, and they seemed to work like magic. As soon as I would place the colorful bird down in front of her, she would smile and her breath would come just a little easier. But it wasn’t enough. The paper cranes couldn’t save her, couldn’t lead her away from this danger, or give her immortality. And as much I hoped and prayed for a flash of white feathers to appear before her and make it better, they never came. So all I had to give were my paper cranes that weren’t nearly enough. But they made her smile, so I never stopped making them.

In the end, I made her more paper cranes than I could count in the span of a year and a half. She never threw one of them away, not a single one. And at her funeral, I placed a single white crane at her headstone, so she could ride it up to heaven.

Now, months later, I am sitting in the place that I still call ours, and the clouds above me are shapeless and meaningless, like most things. The days have been bare and dark. There is no direction I can turn where I don’t feel a chilling breeze and an echoing emptiness. A heavy weight follows me everywhere, and I am lost. I have been lost since she left me, and no number of paper cranes could possibly reassure me that anything will be alright now. But paper cranes are all I have because she is gone. And there are no white-feathered saviors to free me from this feeling. So I get up, gather my things, and begin the trek back home where I’m sure my parents have not yet noticed my absence. 

As I wait on the sidewalk of a wide and busy street, I feel the warmth seep from my skin as the chill returns. My eyes feel heavy and my chest is tight, but the traffic lights have changed and they say I have to keep moving, so I step out onto the crosswalk in a steady shuffle. My head wants to hang low, but before I can droop further down into myself, something catches my eye. 

It’s her.

Across the street, on a freshly mowed lawn, stands my grandmother. Her feathers absorb the light from the setting sun and make her seem like a vision from another world, another time. I stop where I stand, in the middle of the crosswalk, and I stare. I can feel my heart beating and my breath coming in unsteady gasps. I stay frozen, unwilling to move because she’s here. My grandmother has finally come and I can feel a glimmer of something light inside of me.

Then I realize where I am, and I begin to move, but before I can take another step, my grandmother looks up from where she had been searching for grub and looks at me. I stop again. Not three seconds later, something fast and big rushes past me. I gasp as I feel the air of the speeding car blow my hair around my face.

I am shocked. I turn my head to see the car that surely would have killed me if I hadn’t stopped where I was already fading from view. Then I turn back to my grandmother who still stands there looking at me. And I laugh. I laugh because I haven’t in so long and I feel light and I know my grandmother has saved me. 

I run the rest of the way across the street, looking in every direction as I go. When my feet finally land on the sidewalk, I look to where my grandmother had been standing only to see her fly away, job done.

And I want to be sad again. I want to be upset that she had been gone for so long and left again too soon, but I find that I can’t. Not in this moment. Because I can finally appreciate my moments with her while I am in them. And I find that in this moment, there is peace.

The end.

I live with kings

who tower above,

with fancy robes

And unstained gloves.

They always seem so….

Golden.

I walk beside them.

Only two feet tall,

but when they run

I always fall.

My feet are just too...

Heavy.

They carry crowns

of gems and gold.

I’m not worthy,

or so I’m told,

to dream about something so…

Precious.

Still, I’m here,

And I’ll still smile.

Laugh it off.

Stay for a while.

I don’t think they realize I’m so…

Broken.

Sometimes I wonder

If it’s true

If the crowns they wear

are something new?

Or are they just…

Gilded.

Like my crown too.

We sit underneath the covers with the lights off—the grey of the storm leaking under the windowsills while we breathe in each other’s breath—listening faintly to the sound of rain hitting the top of the tin roof—and I think to myself this is how I love you—tangled blissfully in our canopy of kisses—your honey colored locks curling at the ends from dancing in the rain—the wind swaying in rhythm mixing with the autumn leaves and threatens to whisk us away with it—and I think this is how I love you—on lazy Sunday mornings bundled together with blankets and books and bad coffee to shake off the cold chill that the falling autumn rain brings—and I can’t help but wonder if we too will fall

Meet me there

As the sun just passes behind the shadows

Beneath the mists

Of Avalon evergreen

I’ll be wearing robes

Of ivory and cream

With ribbons trailing from my wrists

Matching wreaths upon our heads

Secret vows spilled from tender lips

Made of violets and roses

We join hands

Forever for an eternity