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.

Creative Writing Love

A Tender-Hearted Moment

Come sit between my legs.

Lay your head on my shoulder.

We have now, and that’s all we got.

The future is bleak and dark.

But today is enough.

Here’s some hummus for your lips to remind you of home.

You’ve escaped to Sweden where we’ve made this moment a reality, but your heart’s still back in the Middle East.

Your new home is here with me.

Just the two of us. Now. Together.

Enjoying this moment. Hoping that it’ll be forever.

Creative Writing Horror

The Empath And The Narcissist

It started with the love bombing.

He saw me in ways I never saw myself.

He introduced me to adjectives that I liked.

He did the usual tricks — the hoovering, the gaslighting, and the use of flying monkeys.

But I feel sorry for him.

He needs a new supply.

As I kiss his lips fervently, I promise him: Relax. I’m working on it.

This is why I smile in the dark. So no one can see.

No one can see how much I enjoy his suffering.

But he knows as much as I do that no one will put up with his tantrums.

I know the tricks people play and the things that they say.

He always used to drive fast.

It’s always as if he was running away from something.

I think it is from me.

Creative Writing Love

How This Love Ended

They both died holding each other.

One died with bitterness. The other with longing.

She thought: They were meant to be.

He was bitter because he felt this life was wasted with her.

She was still longing for him even in death. Even in nothingness.

Their families carried both their bodies on a cart on a long and dusty road.

If was on the 50th bump on the road that both bodies fell to the ground.

This is where they were buried.

As with all things in nature, transformation happened.

Both he and she changed: he into a scorpion and she into a butterfly.

One was destined to a new life of dealing death propelled by rage.

The other a life of longing for the sweetness of nectar.

The scorpion looked at the butterfly and thought he knew her.

She looked at him and wondered why she felt an attraction to something evil and deadly.

That thought lasted just a second.

They went on their way: one, to deal death, and the other to give life.

And this is how their one-time love ended in separation.

Creative Writing Love

Tongue Play

Childhood innocence died today.

Love came out of ex nihilo.

I ziplocked some of his clothes retaining his smell.

He parked his tongue in my mouth. A velvet rut.

Knowing that love had an expiration date, an obvious thought appeared like a stain: I think I’ll just hold your tongue with mine.

The idea of love is true and false at the same time.

Love was everything and nothing after this kiss.

And then I laid my eyes on him; my brown eyes on his sharp jawline and lips.

When he hugged my tongue, the lips enclosing it in a bear hug, I knew that it would be fine.

We all want this storybook fantasy.

When it comes to this theme of love, the finer points are always exaggerated, but the broader strokes in its narrative feels very true.

Yet, love is still very much a lie.

Creative Writing Love

Goody Trail

When I led him to the bedroom with my eyes, he smirked and said: Oh, big moves.

I said: You know so. I know how you want tonight to end.

I grabbed his hands and twisted his wrists until his tongue clicked the roof of his mouth in pain.

I used my tongue to unfurl his desire by tracking his nipples and moving down to his groin.

Out went his Gucci shirt. When he lifted his arms, beneath the Hugo Boss scent there resided something stronger and exciting.

What’s it about the acrid smell of a man that sets everything alight? It just might turn out to be a good night tonight.

Creative Writing Love

Kindness Tied My Shoelaces

I remember when I was just 8.

Kindness tied my shoelaces.

And then you got cancer when I was 38.

Today the dancing stopped, because you died.

Tomorrow, I will see you for the last time, as I lay you down.

I can always find you in the books you read and the dishes you made.

But, if only I could wake up and just miss you less.

Creative Writing Horror

Tex’s Last Smile

Not many people saw Tex smiling as he lay in his coffin. It was a surreptitious smile. Almost a silent laugh at those who came to pay their respects.

Tex could afford to smile. I mean he screwed them all up. He lived his life screwing everyone up. And to think the dead don’t laugh. But laugh he will even when hell sets his ass on fire with a tinder spark.

Tex’s ass has sat on gold toilet seats. He has shown his naked bum to all those who got fooled in investing in his Ponzi schemes.

And he smiled, albeit secretly, at his children and wife. They think his name will open the doors of heaven for his wealth through his will.

But there’s no wealth. And no will. He liquidated it all and gave it to all the whores he screwed in the world. At least they made him smile.

None of that money will last. Whores can’t keep their tits behind their bra neither can they keep their legs shut together. Show them a Gucci bag and out comes the cash and the resulting debt.

When you got pancreatic cancer and are dying, there’s no meaning to life. The only meaning is to be nihilist and leave more chaos behind.

Tex’s smile was not kind. It was generous though. Generous with the hate and rancor that powered his heart and now lay congealed in his veins.

Do you know what Tex’s smile really was?

Tex’s smile was one last Fuck You to everyone.

Creative Writing Horror

I Loved Him And Became Deeply Unlucky

What’s more caring than having someone you love cook for you every day? When he feeds you, won’t your heart skip a beat? I dreamt about this moment, but I never found out about such a simple pleasure.

I expected sweet queries of delight, questions like How Are You? because I thought it would mean I Love You, but that never happened.

This was supposed to be a fantastic love story. He was a flying monkey that carried off my teenage years. A bitter case of unrequited love.

The thing with relationships is that there’s supposed to be a continuation. Except that there was no AND HE PROPOSED in this case. I found out that the price you pay for love is loneliness. That’s a condition that is inevitable.

What lies beyond the pain? Relief, maybe? More pain? What is the search for love but just a fool’s errand. He was a song that I wanted to listen to. But he was a playlist of sad songs that was on repeat. With no end in sight.

It was only after many moons did I know that he was just shit dressed up in gold. I found out too late that – People can be more than just one thing.

I knew that there was only one option and that was to – Give up a future together. What an elegant thought that was. That’s what I did.

It was only later on in life did I realize that Fortune behaves the way she wants. It was time to bootstrap towards a different story. Maybe with someone else. Someone else more deserving.

People who loved him can find him in the words he writes. He was a very long playlist filled with sad songs. But his act of indifference was an act of injustice. It was only fair that he suffered just like I did.

So I used his love of writing. He licked the tip of his pencil, wetting it so that the curves and whorls of his words became dark like unspoken secrets.

And, so I made sure that he wrote his last line. He licked his pencil, didn’t taste the cyanide, and fell down dead with half a thought waiting to be completed.

I, in time, didn’t remember him. Memories and life have a tendency to slip away just like the proverbial thief in the night.