Categories
Creative Writing Love

Name

What do I call this?

Love?

Limerence?

This feeling of despondency that covers me when you’re not near.

This need to see your face.

This madness to hold your hand.

This smile I wear when I smell you so familiar.

This want to see you standing next to me.

This despair I feel when you don’t call. 

I think I will call it — Love.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

A Kindness Wasted

The only reason I gave you this kindness was because I cared.

Some of us give more than we take.

I didn’t expect the rest.

I didn’t expect you to take this kindness and think that it was forgiveness.

You took that kindness as weakness and as forgiveness and started life anew — with someone else.

That kindness was a kiss. A kiss that was meant to heal and build a bridge.

Your tone was a bit removed. I inhaled your rejection. It stinks.

But you know, don’t you? It’s us. The ones who break that save the ones that broke.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Your Sad Life Got Sadder

Did you know that your kind can only see 1% of the visible light spectrum?

You don’t see 99% of the rest of the world.

I reside in the 99% of this world.

It’s vast.

It’s morbid.

It’s despondent.

A few of your kind thought they saw me, but put it down to a figment of their imagination.

You can’t imagine what life is like here.

Your Bruno sniffs and sees me at times.

And he whimpers.

He should.

Where I reside, he is food.

As are you.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Campfire In The Sky

She never expected this: flesh giving away to a knife.

What she really didn’t expect was that knife to be held by her husband.

(A few minutes later, a complementary thought walked unbidden to her mind: I guess he got his pound of flesh.)

Who would have thought that there were thoughts of murder marinating in his office room.

Hatred came whistling through in the shape of a knife thrust.

Gone were the days when he used to tilt his heart in her direction.

He used to say: I can be polite or compassionate or I can tell you the truth. But the truth is neither.

That was a truffle of truth she failed to bite.

Dutiful as ever, she obeyed his command to bleed to death.

As she turned her eyes to the night sky so she could be spared his face, she thought she saw a star winking in the dark as she bled her last.

But what it really was were two angels around a campfire looking down from the heavens at her.

Just two angels enjoying the warmth of a fire in a cold sky with no inkling of a desire to help.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

+1

I needed a +1 for life.

Not a Lebanon.

But a Sweden.

I just wanted your No Uncertain Terms to be Certain enough.

You just wanted me to believe your lies long enough so I couldn’t focus on your real moves.

I didn’t want the demons of your trauma to follow you towards me.

I didn’t want your curled-lip cruelty.

We were both on a flight to destination Sadness.

I realized too late that I had bought a one-way ticket.

You’ll never know what a heart of a widow is like.

But now it’s easy to forget you with every post my new beloved makes.

Every newsfeed I subscribed to has washed you away.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Pansy

You have something of mine.

It’s called self-respect.

You look at me with a smirk.

I look at you with a grin.

Your smirk looks concerned.

I can understand why.

It’s the Pansy whose hand holds a knife.

I’m ready to take something of yours.

That is if you can’t return something of mine.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

Loaded

You made a dick move.

Now it’s my turn.

I’ve blown into the chamber and eyed it hard.

6 chambers so loaded.

Now I’ve cocked it.

I’m taking my aim.

And just fired a question at you.

— Do you still love me?

I watch you — freeze, stutter, whimper and lick your lips.

I fire 5 more.

— Do you still love us?

— Do you dare leave now?

— Was it a him?

— Was it a her?

— Will you let me kiss you Good Bye?

I watch you take a knee to the floor.

Answer-less.

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

Questions

Is it true that unions end because one person loves a little bit less?

But what happens if I told you that I am willing to love you a little bit more than your little bit less?

A few years down the line, would you still give me a smile that your lips promised to only share with me?

Will your voice still have that curious inflection when you whisper words that mean nothing yet mean so much?

Can I take your lips with my tongue and make them mine to do or to die?

We should start this journey together, and so, a question: Will you join me for coffee tonight?