(Short)

We walked through the yard searching for the shovel and pickaxe. There was a box behind a broken and forgotten recliner. In August, even after the sun has set, the air is humid and warm. Our foreheads perspired with sweat as we searched. I also looked for flowers to place on her grave, but flowers were few and far between. I could only find things such as lavender and a weed with tiny white flowers. They were only half blooming. Half-grown flowers for a half-grown corpse. When we found the tools, we had to climb over an old half-broken wire fence. He broke the hard, dry ground and dug a shallow grave. With each swing of the pickaxe he gasped for breath. I stood watching in sandals half-covered in poison oak. In my hands was the tiniest bouquet of half-blooming weeds I had ever seen. I placed them on her grave and cried. I did not cry because she was dead, I cried because she deserved more than half-grown flowers. She deserved more than to die in a half-grown body.

I was warned of dying bees at age 7

so I planted sunflowers

I was warned of overflowing landfills at age 13

so I recycled

I was warned of depleting fossil fuels at age 18

so I drove an electric car

I was warned of our dying planet at age 22

so I cried

Eight hours of hell and

I'm back from it

laying in Boston Terrier PJs and

watching old cartoons stoned and

laughing when

I see you snoring and

drooling

your eyelashes long and

dark against the white of your skin

unaware and

still

you have brown hair plastered against your cheek

I never noticed

the curves of your face framed by

the blue soft hue of mornings light.

Breathe and then kiss him

Close your eyes and focus on the feeling of his lips

Do not flinch when his tongue invades your mouth

Calm yourself when his hand touches your thigh

Remind yourself that you love him

Think of how happy he will be if this works

Think of the peace you will feel when it is done

Do not let the guilt seep in, it will only make this harder

Tell him to go down on you

It will relax you and the rip will not be as severe

Brace yourself for the insertion

It will hurt

Tell him to go slowly

The sharp pain will dull with each thrust

Say a silent prayer that he will finish quickly

Do not let the guilt overwhelm you

If you cry, he will stop and you will only feel worse for it

Later, when you go to pee, do not wipe

You must pat yourself dry instead

It will still sting, but it will be short and minor compared

Hurry back before the self loathing sets in

When he asks if it hurt this time, do not lie

Hold him when he looks sad

Cradle his head in your arms

Together say a silent prayer that this will be the last time.

Clear, gelatinous, flattened spheres littered

the beach around me. They appeared

invisible to the unaware eye of people strolling

along the seaside. I had to step carefully around the

numerous carcasses of jellyfish. My lover

lead me by the hand through the carnage. I was

tempted to touch the first one I saw, but he had stopped

me. He explained the tentacles can still sting even if

the jellyfish is dead. I stared at their bodies for far

too long as I noted the faintest hints of organs

and other body parts of a jellyfish. I had never

seen one in real life, and I still felt as if

I was looking at a pale imitation of it.

We drove past his old high school. As we got closer he pointed out a metal table and said "We used to play hackysack there, where the table is, under that tree."

As we drove by, I stared at the benchtable as it was dappled with sunlight, with patches of shade from the tree branches. It stood out against the bright green grasses surrounding it. The tall light brown oak tree towered above it all with the backdrop of a generic looking high school. The scene before me felt both nostalgic and foreign all at the same time.

It felt as is I was cheated by fate, as if it robbed me of knowing him much sooner. I almost could see myself and him beneath that tree, but instead it faded away with the lines of the road. When it was gone from view, his fingers intertwined with mine and brought my hand to his lips. He looked at me sweetly and I felt his grip tighten. I breathed deep and felt the pangs of jealousy ebb away. I began to focus on the road ahead of us.

Boy meets Girl

Girl’s Friend nudges Girl

Girl laughs it off

Boy thinks Girl is cute

Boy sits next to Girl

Girl politely says hi and turns away

Boy tells a dumb joke

Girl is intrigued and asks Boy to coffee

Boy doesn’t know he’ll fall in love in 3 months

Girl doesn’t know he’ll break her heart in 8.

I drove to Fort Bragg today; I decided to visit the beaches. Not only did I go by myself, but I also climbed all over the slippery rocks and didn’t even fall once. You would’ve been proud. As I watched the waves beat against the rocks relentlessly; I was captivated by the present moment of my surroundings. And for a moment, there was nothing but the sea and myself. However, it didn’t last long before memories flooded my mind; memories as relentless as the waves I watched. They were of you and I in better times, and felt as real as the sharp ocean winds whipping my face. I couldn’t help but talk to you as if you were right next to me, seeing what I saw. I have a bad habit of talking to you still, even though we’ve broken up and the you I am speaking to is just a memory. For whatever reason, I thought that I could escape the imaginary conversations by going to the ocean, but I was wrong. So here I am, wondering why it is that I am still obsessing over you.

The first beach I visited was named glass beach, but, despite it's name, it contained very little glass. Instead, it was covered with shattered clam and mussel shells. For whatever reason, I thought the beach would be like a kaleidoscope of fragmented, colorful glass. Instead, I was staring at the dullness of sedimentary rock and sad grey pebbles that littered the ground as I had imagined the glass would have. The only interesting aspect that broke up the monotony was the scattered remains of clams and mussels around me. Every few inches there would be another shell, either split open or shattered into pieces. I was sad, looking at this gloomy gravesite of things that were. Why did I think that it would be beautiful? I always hope for the best, and I’m always met with disappointment. In a lot of ways, this kaleidoscope of broken clam and mussel shells represented the reality of what happens when one hopes and dreams. I had hoped and dreamed that you were the one for me, and instead, you dropped me like how seagulls drop their meals. I shattered upon impact and you devoured my essence before leaving me to die alone amomgst the graveyard of broken dreams.

Walking along this depressing scenery, I noticed the cold ocean breeze cut through my very core, and it could because I left my jacket unzipped and open. I didn’t feel cold, strangely enough, I felt soothed. Usually, I’m the one to complain about any form of air conditioning or slight breeze, and claiming that I’ll freeze to death; not this time. The loud cacophony of a restless ocean had forced me to remove the headphones I had been wearing. I couldn’t block out the sounds of an incredibly powerful and awesome force of nature. Even you, with your excellent tuning out skills, couldn't have. Maybe if my voice had the same power, you would have listened more.

I watched as the grey-blue water broke into a thousand white pieces as it hit the unresponsive rock. It looked familiar, in a way. The sound of waves was deafening as currents flooded the inlet with a frenzied fury of white foam and ridges of water. I stared down at the chaotic sea, and I felt a peaceful contentment wash over me like the water washing over the rocks. I had found a kindred spirit. The ocean reflected the rage and pain I felt as I tried to break your walls down. I watched as the unforgiving sea just kept beating the shore with a massive amount of power, as if trying to make the cliffs succumb to it. The waves, failing to do so, instead rushed their way as far as they could into the cliff’s nooks and beaches. It was as if the ocean was trying to grasp at anything it could as it reached further into shore desperately. But even the furthest reaching ripples couldn’t influence anything except the soft first layer of sand. But even then, the sand just came right back, and the waves had to start all over again.

It was pointless, but I understood the desperation behind it, and that’s why I still talk to you. I am just like the ocean, constantly trying to change what I cannot change. Instead of beating against solid rock, I’m beating my sanity senseless. It’s never-ending. I watched these waves for hours, looking for an answer. Talking to an imaginary person in my head, I didn’t even notice that while the ocean failed to change the shore, I had failed to change anything either. Thinking about you this entire time changed nothing. But then, I noticed the tide pools.

Tiny pockets of ocean had finally found the peace it had been searching for. It had found the harmony it so desired with land and inside grew an incredibly dense collection of life. It was unlike the chaos just 30 feet away. Sure, it was temporary. Soon, the tide would rise and it would be just as chaotic again. However, the tide would also fall again, and the pools would have peace once more. If the ocean could find small pockets of peace, maybe I could, too.

And just for a moment, there was silence in my head. I just let the sound of waves echo in my head. I took a deep breathe, and focued on the ripples in the tide pools.

My nervous eyes watch as his hand reaches for the light switch to turn off the light

and in less than a second

he’s gone.

It is just me beneath this soft and cloudlike comforter.

I do not remember the color.

I do not remember who is in this room with me, but I feel as the covers lift up

and another person slips in beneath them.

I take a breath and let my head fall onto the pillow below me.

And then I feel a hand wrap around my waist to pull me closer to its black silhouette.

The shape of its face is silent.

I cry out when lips brush mine

“Please, the light, turn it on.”

He hurries at the sound of my panic

The lights flash on and there he is

A sweet and caring first love from college

But in the dark I became sixteen

afraid of falling prey to a predator once more.