Fearless

As in the name of the not afraid to draw blood bright red lipstick I am wearing, and because I am feeling more fearless by the second. He is staring at me, trying to pull off an expression of condescending amusement.  I want to rub it off of his face.

You got lipstick on, don’t you?  Myself?  I prefer no make up.

I start giggling.  My own private joke as my mind drifts back to a beautiful eyeliner boy I was all kinds of stupid over when I was 22. I wonder what became of him.  I hope he did not change.  Lose his beauty.

Yes, I am wearing lipstick, I barely manage, my giggles doing the work for me.  Rubbing that condescending amusement right off.  Leaving him bewildered, at a loss for words.

I have nothing else to say.

My mind’s drifted again, to a beautiful eyeliner boy, a different one though. And Fearless kisses.

~

Sort of inspired by smooth, the prompt over at Velvet Verbosity, and sort of not, and sort of a true conversation, and sort of way over the 100 word limit besides.

Gold

With a sigh she sits down at last, in his chair, covered in a plaid that doesn’t match anything else in their living room.  The chair that despite her protests he insisted on getting, and she insisted on nicknaming Sore Thumb.  She is depleted, but proud.  Somehow, she has survived.  Another day without him.

Her eyes trace handwritten pages.  Easy to smudge ink on pieces of fragile onionskin paper. His words. Him.

And against her better judgment, tears.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she spoons her body into the comforting  curves of softness, of the plaid that never will match anything else in their living room.  A sore thumb.  A constant reminder of him. 

She is grateful.

Rest, Assured

Atmosphere, when rain finally ceases, and the sun sultries, chasing overcast.

After brackish, it’s fathoms beyond beautiful.

Deep yourself away, for a bit, believing

that your blurred uncertain on the surface,

actually reflects stars.

14802

Lemonade.

It’s not your poison.

Send it back for rum and coke,  twist

*

of lime.

~

Zip code day 9.

Inspired by the old adage, “when life gives you lemons…”

I say raise a little hell. ❤

F*** Up

They slip away, if you’re not mindful, and you won’t have them any more.

Chances to care, but by the time you finally get around to it, are lost.  Too little too late. 

They slip away, pieces of your heart. (The wrong button, hit in fury over another message, and the silly precious accidental message, the voice of one who means the world to you, is gone.) 

Oh, it slipped away.  One forever moment. Small hand reaching for mine, brown eyes, heart that simply loved me-caught in the middle of big anger-even after I turned the corner, and slipped away.

~

Inspired by Velvet Verbosity’s Reverence. 100 words.

97333

Jagged at the hand of judgment and rejection and

stone silence, chipped away pieces of yourself

become, for others,

pearls of softheartedness

you can give.

~

Zip code day 8

Break

I was only going to stay because of days like tomorrow. When her coming home would mean that my heart would rehydrate with the lifeblood that she is for me, and begin to beat again. At least for the three months of her summer vacation, or those couple of weeks at Christmas, or the odd weekend here and there when I might see her. That was my survival plan. But she was, after all, never responsible for saving my heart, or my life. So I left, sacrificed those days. I had to. Those days were not enough for me.

~

Graceful, at Velvet Verbosity. 100 words.

The Whole of the Ocean

I see him often.  Not every day, but just about. An older man by appearance, but it’s really hard to say. He is severely disabled, listing to one side as he shuffles down the river path, barely lifting his feet off of the ground.  His speech is nearly unintelligible, but I make out enough to know he is saying good morning when he greets me.  As for his smile, it is in perfect working order. I’m not sure what his cross to bear stems from.  It doesn’t matter.  I admire that as difficult as walking is for him, he seems to take pleasure in doing so anyway.

Usually when I see him, he is headed north and I am headed south (or maybe it’s the opposite.  I’m not sure. My sense of direction is practically nil.)  Today, though, I am out a bit later, and he is ahead of me, though as he pauses to rest, he turns his head and catches sight of me, wagging his arm in an awkward wave.  And he is smiling.

As I prepare to pass him by, rabbit fast outpacing tortoise, he says good morning and I wish him the same.  But then, unexpectedly, and with strength I’d never guessed he had, he grabs my arm and pulls me into a tight hug, burying his face in my hair and kissing the side of my head.

Yes.  Hell yes.  I am more than a little taken aback.  But I calmly say bless you, extracting myself and patting him on the arm before I walk away.

And instantly I hear a reprimanding voice inside my head.  Not mine.  Someone I wanted to trust. Should have been able to trust. (Appearances are so deceiving.)

With the warning I’ve heard before.

See? I told you so. You act way too nice, and this is what happens.

I don’t know what to say, except I guess I have to agree.  It’s true.  I am nice.  I try to show kindness whenever I can.  Because I’ve felt the pain of nothingness and I know there are people out there who desperately need to feel they are something.  And (I exercise caution, yes.) there may be hazards.  I might, on occasion, get hugged.  I can live with that. 

~

You are not a drop in the ocean. 

You are the entire ocean in a drop.

~ Rumi

~

I’m taking a break from zip codes today…

98374

How was I supposed to know who to be,

to merit moments you would want to save.

Forever and after.

I fell from grace, decades doomed to

try and fail again.

~

Zip code day 7, inspired by the Five Sentence Fiction prompt memories.

22201

Those days,

I won’t

survive, but

*

do.

~

Zip code, day 6