im sorry i couldnt give you what you needed im just a stupid little girl and i dont know what you wanted from me anyway i have a feeling you just liked the feeling of me getting all goo goo eyed over you which really sucks because you have moved on now and i just feel like my insides are spilled all over the floor
when i was younger i read a book about fairies and it said that sometimes you can see them dancing in toadstool rings after the world has gone to sleep
so i went outside late that night, hoping to catch just a glimpse
it was mesmerizing to see them twirl and dart about, paper thin wings fluttering in the dark, the clear, chime-like music coaxing me forward
what that book didn’t tell me was what happens if you step into the fairy ring, because one minute i was drinking it all in with a hand outstretched, the melody of their song sticky like syrup, and then i am
where am i?
i don’t recognize this place
// // //
i’ve been walking for a long time now. everything looks the same. it might be a dream, nothing feels like anything here.
i haven’t seen my parents for a while. i wonder if they miss me.
memories seem to be slipping fast, falling into jagged cracks in the stone. i’m sorry. i don’t remember anymore, but think you were important to me.
december is as cruel and unforgiving as a steel knife
the wind howls into your ear, desperate to be heard, desperate to be felt
trek down to the frozen pond and watch small birds hop in the tree branches, shaking down white powder
suck in air. feel the cold crackle in your lungs. it’s hard to breathe but you like the way it makes your insides feel like ice, let it out. inhale the sharp, clean scent of winter. exhale.
the cherry orchard is a vivid memory in my head. the fruit is sweet, bursting in my mouth. blue sky like a robin’s egg. if you lay your head back, you can see shapes in the clouds. you point out a deer with a shovel. your laughter is enough reward that it doesn’t hurt when we roll down the hill, sharp grass poking at my sides.
"why can’t i go out and play with the other kids?" asks the puppy.
"you might hurt someone," replies the woman.
i had a dream last night where i talked to you for the first time in months
it wasnt sad until i woke up with tears on my pillow
the old fisherman’s routine starts at four thirty am, when the grass is shiny with dew and the fog is starting to disappear from the bay. his boat, a rickety thing with crusted barnacles on the sides, creaks affectionately when he comes into view. the nets are cast. a thermos of coffee warms his chilled hands, his chilled bones. a soft splash, then silence again. he looks out over the icy gray water. a shimmering blue-green tail catches the sun’s rays and sends molten gold droplets flying. he sips his drink. mornings are the only time he gets to see her.
stay away from chain smoking adolescents because if you enter their world you will never want to leave
"Everybody’s got pain in their lives," she says matter-of-factly. Dappled sunlight peeks through the leaves of the big oak tree, ice clinks in her glass.
He says nothing.
i asked a friend what she thought of running away. we were sitting on a wall in the schoolyard, watching seagulls and wanting to fly. she is a sunflower in a gray scale painting and i am a pill bug wanting to hide away so of course she didnt understand what i really meant
i want to run and never come back
not just leave for a while and return to find that someone has been feeding my fish while i was gone