Three Counts of Manslaughter

It was impossible to keep those three small words from pouring out and ruining everything. 8 little letters that pack enough punch to kill. I bit my tongue. Hard enough that blemishes began to coat the inside of my mouth. Scars that fit together like the pieces puzzle that told the story of us. Little reminders that you were really here. That you exist. Evidence that never left the morning after or whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

We played a game of hide and seek except my turn to hide never seemed to come. I stood, eyes covered, head bowed in the corner counting for what seemed like an eternity. Searching aimlessly hoping to hear you beckon me so this lost puppy look would remove itself and be replaced with the old me. The me you ruined.

All I could do was hope. But we both know how useless that is. So I screamed at the top of my lungs until no oxygen remained. Cried and moaned and mourned until the well of hurt had been sucked dry. And i said those three little words that murdered us over an over again. Because you were no longer there to hear them.

My first date. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same. No moonlit walk on the beach, or fancy dinner where they spoke an exotic language. Just you and I plus a pair of swings and the milkyway.

You whispered my name as if you were afraid you might break it. My fingers tingled and I swear it's because they longed for yours. But to my satisfaction it wasn't long before your hand picked itself up to incase mine. Metacarpals intertwined like the roots of an old oak tree. Those butterflies that had seemingly died off came out of hibernation with a vengeance to (unsubtly) prove their point. The young blush of love revealed itself in my cheeks and they became so hot I feared that even in the dead of night I'd be outed. A vacancy sign for your lips to rest themselves upon as long as they pleased.

After 74 minutes we picked ourselves up to return to the real world. 4 blocks. 4 blocks you had to cradle my head in your hands. To call be baby or even resume holding my hand but you didn't. You just spoke. Smiled. Laughed. When we got to my door I waited. Fondled my keys in hopes if buying some time. I felt defeated. Confused. Angry. Relieved. If you did kiss me what was I to do? How do I tilt my head? Do I use tongue? And as I was thinking these things it happened. I almost missed it. My first kiss. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same.

T&J

From the outside looking in and from every other angle this relationship is falling apart. our pride and our hearts on the line for a jury of peers to decide whether we belong together. After all isn't that what love has become these days. An open forum where anyone and everyone is entitled to their two-cents. Millions of viewers tuning in to watch relationships crumble. Change the channel and fill their popcorn bowls to become avid watchers of our sadistic game of cat and mouse. One always on the run while the other treads behind hoping against hope that they'll one day catch up. A real life Tom and Jerry you and I, but unfortunately there will be an end to this story. Choose our fate, heads or tales? Death or heartache? Neither sound too fantastic, but you choose the latter. For you know who the real cat in this equation is. So you decide you'd rather be a depressed pussy than a deceased one.

Growing Old Fast

You know how they say time flies when you’re having fun? What if you’ve become so heavy with the weight of the world, you’ve developed your own gravity? Does time cease to exist? Pause for a moment so you can frantically wipe the mascara streaks from your face? You sit. Curled into a ball as if you were an infant, whimpering from the pain, and the could haves, and the wish weres. Heaving breaths, trying to shake loose the words that have been plastered to the tip of your tongue for years.

Do you remember when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt? You say no, that light-years separate you from the good-ole days. Days filled with bubble tape and high tides. Days where our biggest worries were how many cookies we could steal without getting caught. Days when love was simple. Now even empty cartons of milk remind me of your empty promises. Never again. Never again, you said to me with such certainty that I almost dropped to my knees to thank the heavens for finally answering my prayers. Almost. Until that same familiar grin began to curl up at the ends of your mouth. The grin that’s made of deceit and screams liar.

If I try hard enough I can remember them. The oh happy days. Days when all we needed was each other and our pinky promises and secret handshakes were like lock and key swearing you to me. Their memories fading so quickly all I can do is desperately reach my fingers out in hopes of grazing them.