Turning Points

            I remember sitting there, in the middle of my room, curled on the floor. It was last time I really cried. Everything seemed broken and hopeless, I’m sure the memory of their laughter played a part as did the silence. Both were so loud my ears started ringing. If the moment wasn’t so empty, if the echo of my sobs hadn’t ripped the silence in burst, I might have forgotten. It may have faded into to just another day, but I think days like that stick with you like warm gum on your shoe.

            They were only gone for the weekend, but it was long enough for my mask to crack and then shatter. You’d think the life growing inside me would be reason for hope. The amazing little freckled faced redhead just beginning to form would have been cause to count blessings, but not in that moment. Had I the glimmer of hope that she carries in every breath then the world may have seemed brighter. But the rain fell and clouds hid the moon, I stretched across the floor counting the drops as they hit the carpet, trying to keep time with the ones hitting the window. Maybe if I found a rhythm, something would make sense.

            He gave me a choice. I’m sure to him it seemed perfectly reasonable, but I couldn’t reconcile it. I still remember his expression, the words rolled off his tongue so matter of fact they caught me off guard. “I already have a son. I don’t want any more children, but I still want to get married.” I didn’t understand at first, searched his eyes for a clue, and looked at the ring on my finger hoping it would answer the riddle. It only took a moment for the horror to set, a glance at the pamphlet he handed me. Then he grabbed my hand, “It doesn’t take long. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

            Looking at her now, watching her red hair glisten in the sun, feeling the warmth of her hug, I think back to those moments when life seemed hopeless; when I was given a choice between two futures. I never wonder what life would be like without her, because she was always meant to be here, sitting on my lap, watching the clouds pass through a crystal blue sky. For all the pain and tears, I’m thankful I met him, because here she sits, watching the lizards crawl across the deck, listening to wind chime melodies. But when the house is dark and everyone is dreaming my mind wanders back and….

            ….I remember sitting there, in the middle of my room, curled on the floor. It was last time I really cried.

She'll Write for You

The first petal fades as she hands over the rose. Its knowledge of the goodbye steals a bit of life. Pink and perfect, the rumor of a forever bloom isn’t in the box; only a token of the heart, the remembrance of long nights and soft sighs. If you listen, the words I love you escape when you open it. As the moonlight dwindles, the last kiss lingers. They’ll fall into slumber wrapped in love and wake to a morning of touch…of taste.

You’ll scan the radio looking for a song to break the mood. The notes string down the road as the hawks fly above the fields. They’re flowing today, touched by sunlight and the tears rolling down her cheeks. But keep your eyes forward, glue them to the road. If you break now there’s no hope of turning back or, maybe, that’s the only hope. Another flight waits, just a call away. Still you know she must go. Their hearts call to her and half the tears she cries are for them.

One bag, a quick hug before sorrow takes hold. If you leave fast enough she’ll never see you cry, but did you consider that may be exactly what she needs? So easy to hide behind the words written on the screen. That’s why you’ll forget to call, because you know she feels the pain in every beat; a burden you keep, because it would only make it more difficult. And the last thing you want is add another string. One more and she may break.

She’ll write for you a thousand sunsets. The colors will dance from her fingertips in fevered waves, because it’s the only way she can cope with a heart divided. When you read this, take in each drip, you’ll see how her heart belongs to you…or maybe you won’t. It will never stop the flow, she’ll write about gardens and train tracks and long walks by the river – she’ll write about love, because that’s what you are…to her.

Love Me Tomorrow

Love me tomorrow; when the wind shifts and the stench of past romances no longer follows us as we walk. They haunt in gusts, forcing the memories back; each smell, every touch assaulting the senses. Its grasp so tight I struggle to pull in breaths that sting with loss. The pain real to the taste, it sits bittered on my tongue, rooted so deep I’ve yet to remove them all.

So, love me tomorrow; let time lift the scars scratched across the soil by sharp careless words whispered by pained hearts. Though I step with care, they reach up to grab the hem. You’ll see the trip just ahead, but let me fall, because this is not tomorrow and I still fight the loss. The scratches and scrapes won’t linger. They heal as my heart starts to let go. Listen to these words and…

Please, love me tomorrow; but not today, oh no, don’t love me on this day. I still need time to catch my breath and I’m waiting for the wind to shift and spinning from the last fall. There’s still so much to do. The places I meant to visit are calling and I’m desperately reaching out to find them – and you. But love…

When you see me, smile and keep walking. When you wake to a new day, thinking tomorrow has come, read these words again and you’ll know – that it is today…

…and tomorrow still waits for love.

Juliet Notions

            They say it’s out there. They tell me to keep looking or to stop and let it come to me, but the lack of agreement confuses my heart. I feel the strings of logic and love wrap around me. The twist strains the beating making it jump and shudder. When I cut one, the pressure lifts for a moment. The message clears, and then clouds when the next word is uttered causing the cycle to begin once more.

 I’m not held in Juliet notions. A love to die for is a step past the forever I desire, but there’s a touch of whimsy in this dream. One that sparkles the edges enough to hold my attention in short breaths. Don’t confuse this with all-consuming passion. It lies far from the abyss created by those fires. This love is the spark; the one that lives bound in soulful whispers and sits on silver lined fancies.

It was once written in a screened memory best. When I heard the words leave her lips I felt them resonate; a dream of love that will still time. Those are the sentiments that echo in me. I go back from time to time to hear them again, because, even though the box is empty, those words still hold power over me. As does the moonlit warnings woven in her tale.

It’s possible that chance passed me somewhere in the turmoil. The forever love set beside the road was missed while my mind wandered in moonlight and waves. I’d go back to search the gravel, but I’ve traveled so far for so long that I’m sure it’s moved on to another heart.

I could let the regret swallow me, I could let the pain overwhelm, but I haven’t reached the end yet. And I desperately want to see where the road leads, if it truly leads anywhere. Right now there’s no light on the horizon, only that moon…echoing her warning.