Day 111.

Someone found her curled up in the corner of an alley. She was sleeping on a piece of cardboard and holding onto the one possession she never sold. A stuffed bear someone had given her for her birthday one year. It had been years since she remembered which birthday or who gave it to her. Even so, it seemed to mean something to her and gave her a sort of comfort. Besides, she found it wasn't really worth anything in the pawn shops.

Day 110.

She ran a comb through her hair, well tried to anyway.  Was it really that long since she'd done that? She was barely able to move it an inch before she couldn't pull it any further without ripping out a chunk of her scalp. 

The reflection she saw in the mirror didn't look like her own. Somehow she knew it was, but it was someone else, too. This shadow that was staring back at her had some of the features she used to have, but they were wrong. Twisted. Deformed. Broken.

Each layer of clothing she removed told its own story.  Each stain. Each tear. Each odor. As she threw the pieces in the trash, she tried to remember how she had come to wear them, but all she could remember was that bad things had happened when she had them on.

Day 109.

Would you walk along the beach with me if I asked? 

Even on a cloudy day? 

Day 108.

I took your pale hand 

in the warm grasp of my own.

You shivered, then stopped.

Day 107.

The veil hangs heavy,

obscuring the dark beneath 

revealed by a breeze. 

Day 106.

It's in the eyes, really. 

The calm that hits.

The storms that flash. 

All the lightening at once revealed 

in those quarter inch orbs.

The smiles that your lips never show 

portrayed by the slight upturn of your lids.

The fire of passion your body can't express,

flames behind the green. 

The once turbulent waters of the sea, 

placid in the blue. 

The words you can't bring yourself to say 

depicted in the black of your iris.

Day 105.

TOMORROW WILL BE THE DAY. 

Tomorrow Will Be The Day.

Tomorrow will be the day.

tomorrow will be the

tomorrow will be

tomorrow will

tomorrow. 

Day 104.

With the rain falling 

    you feel almost clean. 

The film is washed away. 

The grime pooling in a 

    puddle beneath your feet. 

You see reflections that 

    only you know are there. 

They stare back at you 

    with a smirk. 

They are only kept there 

    until the rain stops.

You look up into the rain. 

The drops fall harder and faster, 

    almost painful across your face. 

Your eyes want to close. 

Just before you melt away, 

    the deluge ends.

The sun unmasks itself 

    from behind the clouds.

You feel them inching up your legs. 

There is nothing you can do 

    but be. 

You once again feel 

    the heavy veil that had been 

                                     washed away. 

Day 103.

There's sadness in there. 

And anger. 

Disillusionment.

Desperation.

Is that help you're longing for? 

Or distance? 

Do you know? 

Day 102.

I ran unchained.
I knew the limits.
There was freedom.

Day 101

It surrounds you 

encompasses always your thoughts 

seeps in through your pores 

oozes into your veins 

flows through your body 

forces its way into your marrow. 

It controls you 

holds your feet in their spot 

ties your arms behind your back 

pries open your eyes 

twists your stomach 

squeezes your heart. 

Day 100.

Despicable. Shameful. Disgusting. Inconsiderate. Selfish.

Did you throw those papers on the ground?
Did you leave that trash beneath my tire?
Did you ignore the garbage beneath your own feet?

Did you forget to flush?
Did you pee on the seat?
Did you ignore the mess your child left behind?

Did you even for one microsecond think about anyone other than yourself?
Did you choose to ignore that thought?
Or was it so subtle that it may as well have not happened at all?

Day 99.

The New Realty

Music floats from every direction, 

young and old share their passions 

with the ungrateful. 

Commuters run to their destinations, 

always looking at their phone 

like no one else exists.

Uniformed soldiers stand by 

waiting for the moment 

they hope never comes. 

Day 98.

Gibberish

He cried out across the hallway, 

but no one understood his words. 

They echoed on the tile walls 

and drifted away down the tunnels. 

He cried out across the hallway, 

but no one was listening. 

Involved with their own troubles, 

he seemed a distant being. 

Day 97.

Your eyes look back at me in the mirror.
It catches me every time.
It's the one thing we had in common.
A blessing and curse.
A constant reminder.
A daily haunting.

Day 96.

How to Keep It Together
A story of struggle, discovery, frustration, anger, and resolve.

Start with a lifelong struggle to find confidence.
Apply discovery in the form of college degrees, further education, and reading.
Mix in the frustration of never realizing your life's passion.
Resist the urge to fight everyone around you when the anger is too much to bear.
Resolve that you will never have the answers; that you will never feel complete; that you will always feel unfulfilled, dissatisfied, less than, and uncomfortable in your own skin.

Day 95.

A little palette cleanser. Something silly and light and mediocre at best. Lol

I'd rather sit and play today

Than go outside anyway. 

The sun's too hot 

It burns my skin.

The rain's too wet 

It ruins my hair.

The snow's too cold

It freezes my nose. 

I'd rather stay in bed today

Than make new friends anyway. 

The girl's are too loud,

They hurt my ears. 

The boys are too mean, 

They make me cry. 

I'd rather be at home today

Than go to work anyway. 

The bosses all shout.

They hurt my head. 

The work is too hard. 

It fills my desk. 

The pay is too low. 

I can't get ahead. 

Day 94.

It choked me, 

hands it if nowhere 

wrapped around my 

throat from behind. 

It whispered 

painful words 

in my ears

Then stood back 

and watched as 

I grasped for air, 

tears down my cheeks. 

Day 93.

Through half-closed eyes

and half-awake mind 

you survive the day. 

Laughing at what is 

supposed to be funny. 

Morning what is 

supposed to be sad. 

Suppressed by numbness, 

a perpetual unease 

eats at your bones. 

You don't even know 

it's there until one day 

you can no longer stand. 

Your legs give out 

from the weight 

they've been carrying. 

Your spine crumbles 

into a pile on the floor. 

Devastated, you sigh relief. 

Day 92.

"I've been coming here every month for 10 years. I've sat in that chair every month for 10 years. I've ordered the exact same meal, the same dessert for 10 years. I have cried myself to sleep. I've hated you. I've hated everything you made me. Sad, insecure, lonely, untrusting, angry. 

But I still came here hoping that some day you would remember me. Hoping that you had beautiful memories of our time here. Not believing that you did. I imagined you living with your other family, the better one you must've left me for, the one you loved more. I imagined you happy and never thinking of me.

But I still came here hoping I was wrong. I dreamed of what I would say to you. I envisioned your face as I lashed out at you, releasing all these years of pent up hostility. I'd hoped to make you cry. It would never equal how much you made me cry, but it would be a start. I'd hear your apology, and I'd see us hugging and moving forward like it never happened. I thought I could be happy again. 

But none of that will happen. Seeing you has not made me happy. It's made me sad. For you. Looking in your eyes, I can see you have not lived the happy life I pictured. 

There's nothing for me to say that will make it better. There's nothing for you to say that will make it better. So, I'm going to leave. I won't be back next month. Don't look for me. 

Good bye, father."

Day 91.

Every time she came here, she did it with the hope that one day he would return. She never believed it would actually happen, but she hoped. After time, it became more of a habit coming here. The restaurant expected her. She didn't want to let it down. 

No matter how deeply she longed for this moment, now that it was here, she wasn't sure she wanted it. The anger and disappointment she'd been living with had become part of who she was. If she finally learned the truth, she might have to let that go. She might have to stop hating him. She might have to let it go. 

There were so many things that she imagined saying to him. She'd played out an infinite number of conversations. Some were tearful, some joyful, some screaming matches. But right here in this moment, she was speechless. 

As she looked him in the eyes, she began to feel his pain. Maybe he hadn't been living the great, trouble free life she had imagined. 

Day 90.

He looked down at her hand on his arm in shock. He thought she had been ignoring him and that she didn't want him there. He figured he'd leave her be. But this simple gesture and those two words told him otherwise. "Don't go." He wished he'd heard them 10 years ago. It might've made him realize his mistake sooner instead of living with 10 years of regret and misery. He couldn't put that on her, and he knew it. She was just a child. He was the adult. He should've known. 

But today she said it. He stopped, turned around and sat back down. He could feel and see a change in her face, especially her eyes. Where they were blank and zombie-like a minute ago, they were sharp, focused and looking right at him.  Now that he felt her gaze, he wasn't sure if he could handle this. He never fooled himself into thinking it would be easy, but he wasn't quite prepared for the eye contact. The dread of having to look her in the eyes and explain his actions had become reality. He was here sitting right across the table from her. The scotch didn't help in calming his nerves. 

She didn't say another word once he sat back down. Should he engage? Start the conversation? Was she waiting for him? Should he wait for her? What thoughts were going through her head? 

Once and for all, he determined that he did not know how to read her. He'd never known. 

Day 89.

She wasn't going to let him walk out of her life this time. She was unable to speak or move 10 years ago. She wouldn't let that happen again. It took every ounce of her soul to break out of her shock. She had hoped for so many years for this exact moment. Those hopes were always empty and she was always disappointed. Now, with him sitting across from her, speaking to her, reaching out to her, she found she was right back to being her scared little girl self, completely numb, dumbstruck. But she'd lived so much life, experienced so much since that awful day, surely she could manage to overcome this fear.

As his words transformed from pure mumble and white noise into actual sound that she could recognize, she realized that this long awaited moment would slip by if she succumbed to her childish instincts. She heard "I love you." She heard "Goodbye." She still couldn't move. Something deep inside her, some subconscious strength lifted her hand and grabbed his arm. The words came out before she had a chance to form them. "Don't go." 

He stopped in his tracks, and she could feel him look down to her hand. She kept looking forward, still not quite in her body. As he came back and sat at the table, she was finally able to focus her eyes on him. She realized he was the man that had been sitting at the bar. She thought she had felt him watching her. Now it made sense. 

She looked him in the eyes. She lost her breath. She felt the tears building up in her eyes. He had gotten so much older. His face was covered in wrinkles. His hair almost completely grey. He'd put on some weight. There was no life in his eyes. She still saw the kindness and love in them that she felt as a little girl. But how could that be when he clearly hadn't loved her? How could he have left her if he did? She had always imagined that he had another family that he loved more. He had children, maybe even a daughter her age that he took care of; that he took to some other restaurant on some other day; that he loved with all his heart, so there wasn't any room for her. 

So, what was this love and kindness she saw? Maybe that's why he was here. He felt sorry for her. Well, she didn't need his pity. But, what did she need from him? All these years of hoping for this moment, she never once asked herself that question. Here he was, right before her, and she had no goddam idea.

Day 88.

He wasn't really sure what to expect when he sat. Anger? Tears? Joy? A hug? He was petrified. He had often thought about what he would say; how he would explain himself. He knew nothing he ever said would fully justify his actions. And there were no words that could describe how much pain and guilt and regret he'd been feeling all these years. He knew his pain was nothing compared to what she must've been going through. 

He used to believe she was better off without him and that she would be happier. Until he saw her at the restaurant, their restaurant, that day. At that moment, he understood that he was wrong. He had held onto that false hope for so long. He couldn't believe the lies he told himself. He had to do something, had to make up for lost time, had to apologize. She probably wouldn't accept it, but he had to try. He had to make sure she knew he'd always loved her and thought of her every day. 

When he sat, he could see she was surprised. Of course she would be. He said hello. She didn't respond. He asked how she was. She didn't respond. He told her she looked well and had grown into a beautiful woman. She didn't respond. He said he was happy to say she still loved chocolate cake. She didn't respond.  He was silent for a few moments. She didn't respond. He apologized for bothering her, said he loved her and good bye. She didn't respond. He stood and started to walk away. As he passed her chair, he felt a hand on his arm. 

"Don't go."

Day 87.

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she didn't move. At first she assumed it was the man she just met, coming back to tell her never mind; he wasn't interested after all. She expected it.

When she heard her name, she knew it wasn't. She froze. She panicked. She shuddered. She knew exactly who it was. It had to be a ghost. She must've summoned it by sitting in his seat. She had to be imagining it; a psychotic break brought about from years of desperation, manifesting itself in an audible hallucination. That was it. It had to be it. She didn't respond, didn't even look up. She just kept looking straight ahead. 

When he sat in her chair, she didn't see him. She just peered right through. He was a ghost after all, an aborition, a hallcination.

When he said hello, it didn't register in her ears. She thought she heard some kind of mumbling, buzzing sound, but that was in the distance. It certainly wasn't sitting across from her at her table in her chair.