Categories
Creative Writing Love

Sometime Summer

At least there’s a hand to hold.

That’s what I thought.

Holding his hand was comfort enough.

Imagine hitting 100 and having no hand to hold when you breathed your last.

The sad part is that this is the 3rd hand I’m holding.

The third pair of lips I’ve kissed.

But my Sometime Summer is no more.

Every season draws to a close.

And now it’s my turn to have endless chats under the sycamore tree by myself until I breathe no more.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Summer

August came and went, but she’ll always remember August, because of what he said:

Give me a kiss and I’ll give you a smile.

Tell me something sweet, and I’ll buy you something nice.

You cover your face like the moon behind a shimmer of clouds.

Tell me you love me, and I’ll see you come around.

Darling, didn’t you know that I’ll pick two stars and put them in your eyes.

If only you’ll be a little less stubborn and learn to offer up a smile.

Three months passed, and it was turning out to be the greatest love story ever told.

They promised each other with the stink of sex between them:

Let’s both hold hands and write this story — our story — together.

Months went past but even as her stomach grew and she grew beautiful still, the theatre of life dimmed.

That’s when she opened her mouth, and an angel with a terrible secret whispered out aloud:

Do you know this little secret I’m about to drop softly into your ear, my love?

Street lights wept as she told him of early dementia. The days passed by, and he saw how thoughts, questions, and sanity itself fell away in her mind.

The only thought that remained in that fine sieve of her brain was a terrifying question:

Who am I?

He thought:

Relationships end because one person loves the other person a little less.

And he slipped a knife through with just a hint of a secret gasp, and she felt the skin, flesh and sinew parting with sympathetic and painful reluctance.

She thought with a last painful breath as the darkness came:

As you can see, even monsters were babies once.

When the world came to see her rest, she heard his Mama admonish him:

What are you doing?

He said with a surprised jolt:

Nothing Ma.

But she saw him as did the red-breasted robin nearby, spitting with glee, spitting with relief, right where she lay, right here among the leaves.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

Algo

I saw you on my Samsung screen.

I swiped right.

You swiped left.

You didn’t want to see me.

Algorithms don’t care about us.

The algorithms don’t care about me loving you.

That’s why I went and held someone else’s lips with mine.

Yesterday’s pleasure, which was designed to forget you, was supposed to be a happy memory.

Yesterday’s pleasure is my regret today.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

3 Months

It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver.

It was because she was hiding something from me.

I pry her lips open with my tongue.

I wish it tasted like him.

I taste guilt.

Her breath smells sour like betrayal.

That’s when she says: I’ve slept with someone else.

I ask: For how long?

She murmurs: 3 months.

I bite her lips, because I want to giggle.

A 3 year marriage is supposed to end over a 3-month affair?

The joke’s on her.

She was always just a one night stand.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

Wonder

I wonder if our love will grow stale once you grow and prosper in life. I wonder if all this effort will be in vain. Do you wonder the same?


Can you still love a smooth face that has given way to wrinkles and the shame of time?


Will you still care for the person whose head is adorned by the greys and whites of hopelessness and frailty?


Could you possibly kiss the lips of that one person who once remembered your birthdays throughout the years, but now forgets as he stumbles and falls in weakness?


I wonder if the whispers of I Love You will be forgotten — just an echo now, which Time has chosen to forget too.


Tell me — Do you wonder the same?