Tag Archives: writing

Lost It

I lost my passion.
That burning drive
and fire.

I don’t know where it went
or how I lost it.
I just know it’s gone.

Strange thing is
I can’t really say I miss it.
Other feelings filled the void.

Or
Maybe they’re not feelings,
really.
Just business and tasks that are
an adult’s daily chores.

There is a certain cyclicness to my life now.
A carefully charted path
with nothing unperceivable
and completely flat.

Oh – flatlining?
What a term for the living!
To stay straight on a narrow line.

Are we not all just cogs in one big machine?
So Pecknold says.
Is that our destiny?

Ridiculous and bleak.
I better find that passion,
before such a life takes hold of me.

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The Seven: Before the Fall – 1

” Sarah?”

A pause.

“Sarah? Are you even listening to me?”

Sarah closed her locker door, revealing April’s wide-eyed, upturned expression. She leaned her head back onto the thin, grey metal door behind her. “Did you hear what I said?”

Sarah sighed and gave her friend a weak smile. “Yes, loud and clear.”

April puckered her lips. “Well being loud is one of my best traits.”

They laughed.

“But seriously,” April snapped back into her direct tone. “The party starts at eight. And everyone is going to be there. Everyone,” she tilted her head down as if to whisper, “including you know who.”

Sarah snorted. “How do you even know that?”

April tossed back her long, black hair over her shoulder. “I have sources. You know this.”

“God, April. Sally doesn’t know anything. That girl can’t tell you what she ate for breakfast – if she remembered to even eat it. She’d feed anyone a story so long as it kept you listening to her.”

April rolled her eyes and tossed her hair to the other side. “Well” she said, holding on the ell, “just let me know alright. I know Sally can be-” she paused, “-a little flimsy on her information, but I think she is right on this one.”

They started walking down the hall. The crowd getting sparse as the class bell loomed.

Sarah bit her lip. If he was going to be there, then she should be there. But if he wasn’t, it was just going to be another typical high-school party with lots of drinking. And lots of gossip.

“Okay,” she said quietly before they entered the science room.

April let out a squeal. “I’ll pick you up at nine on the corner. Lights out as usual.”

SUMMER BREEZE

Can you feel
the summer breeze
that’s sweeping in?

Bringing with it
the sweet aroma
of warm evenings
spent under the sky.
Glasses of wine
lounged with friends
at your side.
Conversations free and fleeting
laughter and the subtle beating
of hearts.

Stars blink
and the moon shines.
Comfortable in their light
the night spans into forever.
And you never ask why
but you bathe in it
and love every second.

RESPECT MY MIND

There is pain in my skull
from all the pressure inside.
It’s pounding bone
and trying to bust through
my eyes.

But I am here
sitting and wondering
how it got to be.
How it became
such agony.

Stretched thin
is my patience.
Boiling
is my blood.
Bedlam
is the logic.
Thoughts
like sludge.

Thought I truly try to succeed,
I feel like
every question you frame
is a trap.
and – GOD –
I am getting tired
of the act.

Petty, cyclic, futile,
and worth no one’s time.
Can I ask you just for once
to be an adult
and respect my mind?

The Seven: Chapter One

The clouds break apart high in the sky, leaving frayed edges and trails of white behind them. A warm, red hue blankets the bottom rolls, reflecting the evening’s sun as it begins to dip beyond the horizon.

Sarah looked at the black illumination of the city’s skyline. Ribbons of towers and spires were like mountain’s themselves, like some kind of testament to the power of man over that of the Earth.

Her feet dangled off the side of the cliff while she sat. Hard, rust colored rocks surrounded her, no bigger than couch. A playfield of boulders, as some her friends had called it. But at the edge of the playfield was Marooner’s Cliff. A devastating – or beautiful – three hundred feet drop down into forest below. The lodgepole pines outstretched from the base with their slim trunks trying to meet the edge but falling still over two hundred feet short.

The sky began to take on the nature of fire, orange and yellow streaks slit across the view in front of her. Would this be her last sunset?

Andrew had found a space next to her. He had been noticeably quiet for a while now. She assumed he was giving her some space – a chance to think. Everything had happened so fast. It was all supposed to be a joke, a hoax. None of it was supposed to be real.

He stirred, moving to get up. “Sarah?” he asked, his voice small.

Sarah didn’t respond. She still didn’t feel ready.

He cleared his throat. “Sarah?” he asked again.

She turned her head steadily, meeting his eyes. “We can’t wait any longer. If we don’t do it soon, the sun will have set and then….then…” he shook his head. He looked down and traced his boot on the dusty ground, pebbles scratching the surface as he moved. “We would let them down,” he added.

“I know.” Sarah stood, taking in a long breathe. Her heart was beginning to race again. Could she really be doing this?

“Here –,“ Andrew fumbled with his pack and handed her a small container. The clear liquid sloshed around. “It’s pure, I promise. Picked it up on my way over.”

Sarah nodded; she would never doubt Andrew. He was someone to bet your life on.

“And yourself?”

He pulled another container out. “Covered. I think I’ll just leave my bag here.” He tossed it over one of the rocks to the other side. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to take it with me anyhow. You might want to empty your pockets, too. Anything to weigh you down a little less.”

“Right.” Sarah managed a small smile. Her heart began to feel like it was moving its way up her chest as nerves began unraveling all over her. With shaking hands, she pulled out her cellphone and wallet, tossing them down on the ledge. What would her mother think when they found them?

A pang hit her hard in the stomach. Her mother. Did she say goodbye?

“Ready then?” Andrew asked. He was trying to be brave, but his pallor had gone pale amidst his red-freckles. Poor Andrew, Sarah thought. She was the reason he was here today.

With as much stillness as she could muster, she popped open the lid and drank the liquid in one breathe. It was cold and hinted of metal. She supposed as any water kept in a copper basin would be.

Taking Andrew’s hands in hers they repeated those three sentences. Only twenty words. She had counted them repeatedly.

They both turned to the edge of the cliff and released hands. Taking in the world around her a last time, she stepped out.

Her body felt like a cloud as she fell – weightless and free.

 

JOY

Something strange happened to me the other day.

I was in the airport bathroom en route to Phoenix when two Latino ladies approached me. One was older with lines of age marking her face and hints of grey about her forehead. She was dressed in some heavy clothing for August and had a work apron on top of it all.

The other was younger, her wide black eyes more pronounced by the smoothness of her skin. A loose patterned sweatshirt hung about her over black leggings.

They spoke quickly in Spanish to one another as they approached me with some hesitation. The young woman said, “She would like for you to leave a comment.”

I scrunched my brow, unsure of what she meant. “You want what?” I asked.

“Senora, Senora, ” the older one said. She raced back over to a janitorial cart and brought back a stack of napkins. On one of them, someone had written some words in Spanish in a lovely, cursive font.

“See, see.” The woman pushed the napkin closer to me, keeping an expectant gaze. I stood dumbfounded, unable to read it. My one year of language class was not paying off.

“She wants you to write a comment,” the younger one spoke again, “of this place.” She held out her hands. “Of her work.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, finally grasping the meaning. The older woman laid down a new napkin eagerly, placing the previous one close by for an example.

“Olga,” she said, pointing to herself. Her smile brightened as I uncapped the pen and started to write.

When I handed it back, she thanked me repeatedly and then went right back to work, wiping all the counters down even though they were already clean.

I’ve thought back on this interaction in several passing moments now. And what I always circle back to is the woman’s sheer joy for the comment. She had no idea whether I would write something good or bad. But yet she seeked it all the same – language barrier or not.

And I could see her dedication to the job, too. Cleaning bathrooms is not a pleasant job – and the ones at the airport are nowhere near the top of the easy list. But here she was, so motivated and happy. Utterly happy.

And then I think about my own job and how a day with an emotion like that is nonexistent. I would never ask for a comment card for the fear of making the day that much worse. But why is it like that? Why shouldn’t I seek the same joy?