A hopeful heart
I sat on the edge of the fountain, surreptitiously glancing left and right, awaiting the moment he'd come into view with his kind eyes and shy smile. The minutes passed, an hour came and went but I did not leave. There are those who might say a higher power was at work. For he did arrive, running, sweat dripping, shocked to see I was waiting still, smiling, perchance, already loving.
And we lived happily ever after - as all the difficult times entwined with a multitude of shared joyful moments, each woven tightly into the fabric of our life together.
Pooky-Bear is fending for herself while I work nights, so I got her a Blow-up Huck for company. She was angry at first, but is coming around.
Blow-up Huck will apparently watch a movie on the couch with her without all of my silly comments that “ruin it.”
And unlike me, Blow-up Huck will wave from the porch at neighbors passing with their dogs, at least on windy days.
But “Mr. Wonderful” must have sprung a leak. I’m guessing this because Pook says she has to re-inflate him every night at bedtime (you wouldn’t believe where they put his valve)!
Silly now it seems
Swept away by a soft breeze.
Sweet be the moment, shared not remembered. Soured by the memory of stolen adventure.
Then two bring the Twist of a lemon, The true taste of fate,
Flavored by sunshine. No bitterness or hate. A surreptitious smile - a glimpse not a glance. Beyond any Blundering advance of false affection:Undulating forth
With thoughts unexpected.
lips latching, tongues tentative. the life not a lie until one person denies. this is how it end. all things; happiness and sorrow -yesterday, today and tomorrow. Only the brave speak of being bold while those with courage take action.
The headache feels like bees drilling into my skull.
His hand's on the doorknob. My fingers snake around his wrist.
"Stay?" I plead.
He faces the wall, my hand falls limply. I see his reflection in the mirror, light eyes in agony.
My head tips back, wasps buzzing. Thunder cracks outside. The window is leaking.
My lips part, or maybe his do. Both of us let the rain speak instead. Just falling, dripping, seeping.
He turns. "Goodbye."
I touch his knuckle, because he's still close enough. The door bolts: lightning.
Just me and the bees behind my eyes.
The school’s old legend
"Did you know?
This land was barren before. Lot's of kids talk about it, especially when your classroom's there.
That building in school was made out of dead orphan kids for making strong foundation and bringing good luck! That's why that building is haunted!"
"The what???...that's clearly an old lore to scare the shit out of kids who don't listen to adults!"
"But what if it's true? Imagine those children's souls being stuck in there..."
"Go home already! It's past midnight. School's over!"
"But you'll be left alone again!"
The boy insisted, talking to the wall on the hallway.
Palais des Ducs et des États de Bourgogne
Steam drifted up off of her cup of coffee. Crowds passed her by, diverging into their separate paths and turns towards their respective intended destinations. Her knuckles were white, her face paler--he was late. He was never late. At an adjacent table, a man with a well-waxed mustache and circular sunglasses lit a Marlboro red, and croaked a couple words to his partner. Her coffee was refilled. The square's traffic had started to thin out; black crows and the directionless began to make up a larger and larger proportion of its occupancy. She remained seated, shaking and staring dead ahead.
He stared at her through the window. There were dozens of girls in that room, but he knew she was the one - soft, brown hair and beautiful, deep brown eyes. He could swear she was smiling at him.
Though this was the first time he had ever laid eyes on her, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would spend his life loving her. His eyes were glued to her as the maternity ward nurse picked her up - his brand new, tiny baby daughter.
I once met a strange little man, floating downstream on a piece of log, he had on a tweed jacket, blue pants and clogs.
It was a beautiful evening by the bank, green glowing insects and croaking frogs.
"How'd you do? Of what purpose is the log?" I asked.
"It helps me be still, I have no option to be still or else I'd drown" he said floating merrily by.
I pondered on his words later with a bottle of beer and also on the poster tacked on door with the picture of strange little man that said: "missing"
Boy, do I love Zombies.
Their wet lips surround me. Twitching limbs reverberate against my body. Hundreds of stale bodies pressed against mine, heaving excited gasps; shuffling, biting, reaching. All towards the kill. I'm engulfed. My body twitches along with their rhythms, my eyes are blank, gazing down at the trodden field now covered in shadow. I'm being pushed to the center. My humanity is over. They pay no heed to my mediocre acting as their collective tears down an unlucky mailman. They chew in gastric rhythms, I must eat.
Boy, do I love Zombies, I really fuckin love them!