Lost Things

I dream of lost things. The old and forgotten that live in the backs of wardrobe, hidden behind tables and swept under beds. The memories pile up on shelves and between books and on countertops. They overflow at the seams, peeking out from their hiding spots and reminding me of days long gone and people all but forgotten. I am reminded of days when I laughed until I cried and of days when I cried until I laughed, of firsts and lasts, of goodbyes and hellos. Nostalgia runs thick like blood through my house, creeping its way through every crack and crevice, making its home in the walls and under the floorboards. A photo here, an album there, an old pendent, a key, a letter. I am reminded of people whose faces are faded and blurry but who’s pictures are clear and bright and smiling, of days that run into one another and of nights so great I can’t remember them. My house is built from fractured memories and splintered stories that sulk around darkened corner and dance over my pillow at night, and as I lay down to sleep, lost things settle down and build homes in my mind.

Me Without You

I see shattered hearts and shattered glass and window panes streaked with rain from the departing storm. The old worn paths we used to walk are gone now, overgrown and forgotten and all I want is to remember the feeling of when we were young and I saw fireworks in your eyes and nothing could stand in our way. These days I drink my coffee alone and wake up in a cold bed and I tell myself our stories to get me though the day and I hope that I made a difference in your life or that sometimes I cross your mind because we were beautiful together and I struggle every day to adjust to a life without you. I don’t sleep well anymore because when I close my eyes, you’re there, and I’m staring at your back again but no matter how fast I run you’re out of reach. I remember the arguments and the late nights waiting at home alone when you never called and falling asleep at the dinner table next to a plate of food slowly growing cold, but I still miss you because I searched for meaning where there was none and I saw love that had been used up and dried out long before I met you and I thought you were the world, but I was foolish and I looked at you like a child looks at the stars in the sky and I reached for you but you were distant and cold and watched as I fell, tripping over my own feet to get to you. Occasionally I walk the paths we used to follow and visit the places we used to call ours and I think about what we could have been, but we were destined to go our separate ways and I will learn to live without you and one day in the future I will remember you and what we were and smile fondly at our memory, and the gaping cavity in my heart you left behind will heal and one day, I know, I will be whole again.


 

Daily Prompt: But No Cigar

Faded Gray Lives

IMG_3869My favorite color is gray. Gray, like the mist that rolls into the hills and settles down outside my window on cold foggy days. Gray is the color of hazy shapes and blurred vision, of people feeling their way aimlessly through familiar landscapes that unexpectedly transformed into strange, unknown territories sometime during the night.

Gray was the color of his eyes in the wintertime when the bright blue faded away. His eyes were the color of regret and boredom after he realized something that was once there had been lost, something that no one noticed until it was gone, a spark, and with it gone, so was he.

Gray is the avoidance of conflict, the color of opinion and disagreement, of hard choices and negotiation, of understanding that the line between right and wrong is blurred and crooked and trampled by mistakes and missteps and misfortunes.

Gray is the color of raw emotion and painful numbness and water as it flows over rocks washing away the dirt and filth that builds up over time. Gray is the color of the sky and the ground and the backs of my eyelids. It is the color I see, the color I hear, the color I feel and as I make my way though this gray existence, I am reminded of dusty gray houses and low hanging skies, of winding asphalt roads and faded gray lives.

An Isolated Eternity

She looked at him. She stared for an isolated eternity squeezed into a fleeting moment until he met her gaze and she looked away, breaking the eternity and resuming a dull reality.

He was everything to her, and that was frightening. To trust, so freely, another human being was maddening when she knew the ending to every story lay in abandonment, in heartache, in pain, in solitude. She had experienced it. She had felt the sting of misplaced trust, but for now she pushed those feelings aside into the dark most corners of her mind.

For now, she was infatuated with a boy. A boy who made her laugh until she couldn’t breath, who made her cry because she knew he would leave. A boy whose words crept into every corner of her mind and drove her mad. A boy whose flaws shaped and molded a new definition of perfection in her eyes. And to her, he was a sunrise, promising to shed a new light onto her existence. The light that would keep her afloat until the nightfall when she would be plunged back into darkness darker than anything she could remember from before he came into her world.

She memorized the movement of his hands when he talked and the freckles that dotted his face. She knew his crooked smile and the color of his eyes. She knew him, and she was caught. Caught in his game of cruel consideration that threatened to sweep over her like a wave and pull her under and as he glanced away from her, she looked back at him.


In response to the Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots“.

Open your nearest book to page 82. Take the third full sentence on the page, and work it into a post somehow.

In Bright Lights Live Dark Minds

In these bright lights live darkened minds,
They leave their black flowers behind.
Protruding ribs meet collar bones,
Storm clouds reside inside my lungs.

Paper cheeks and cold stone eyes,
The telltale signs we cannot hide.
The boys whose names have been left out,
The lies that fell from open mouths.

Spider webs like battle scars,
Shoot loving daggers through the heart.
Beauty takes a leap of faith,
In hopeless search for fresh escape.

I am drawn to that which seems,
Will be the certain death of me.

Hannah Haynes

Holiday in the Berkshires

i had a three week break for the holidays which i did not want to let go to waste, and what better way to spend the holidays than with family. i started out my vacation in florida visiting family down there and then jumped on a plane to spend the rest of my time with family up in the berkshires. while we were there, we stayed in a lovely resort. it had everything, from cross country skiing to a very impressive spa and gym. although we didn’t get enough snow for good ski conditions, which was disappointing, there were plenty of other things to do. luckily for me, we spent a good amount of time doing my all time favorite activity, eating!