“I never should have trusted you”
I said quietly, barely more than a whisper. I was never the kind of person to raise my voice when I was angry, but I could feel something shift that day. I knew he wouldn’t fight fair, so why should I? His face was red and his eyes, which used to scare me, looked afraid themselves. Fear, it seemed, of the man to which they belonged.
“You would be nothing without me, and you know it.”
He said it with a certainty and decisiveness that almost made me believe him myself. Almost. When I thought of all the times I’d felt anger, it had would reach what I thought was the maximum capacity, and the tears would fall. But what happened next was something I didn’t know I was capable of until now. The anger I felt surpassed anything I’d felt before, and it felt as though all logic and reason had evaporated from my mind and all that was left was a ruthless fighter with her life on the line. What happened next was something I could barely remember, nevermind recite. But I know that every single lie, argument, and punch I’d taken from him up until this point returned to my body as I fought back. Screaming as loud as I could, I told him everything I had wanted to say for the last ten years. I could tell by his response that he felt something, finally, after all these years. He stepped back, and he was quiet. I had never seen him like this, and for the first time I felt strong. Like nobody could hurt me again. The only thing I remember clearly were the last words I ever said to him.
“Pack your bags and leave. I don’t ever want to see you again”
As I stood in the town square with a crowd full of paranoid, violent skeptics closing in around me, I felt fear for the first time in my life. Until this point, I’d flown effortlessly under the radar. I wasn’t the witch I was accused of being, I was actually well- everyone. I was born a shape shifter, and could transform my physical appearance to be entirely identical to another person at any given moment. It was fun as a kid to be able to hide from the adults, or converse with them without being patronized. It had gotten me out of more inconveniences and dangers than I could count, but now, with so many eyes on me, I couldn’t shift. If I did, it wouldn’t matter what the technicality of my supernatural existence meant- they would see the magic and set me on fire. No one knew why I was like this- in fact most people didn’t know at all. The one person who did know, who I thought I could trust, stood in the crowd. She hovered near the back with a pained look on her face, as if her presence there somehow hurt her more than it hurt me. I imagined that’s what her explanation would say if I lived long enough for her to provide one. Just when I thought my life was over, the ground began to shake. At first it was barely enough to disrupt someone’s balance, but it quickly escalated to an earthquake like no one had experienced before- certainly not in Massachusetts. Cracks in the ground like spiderwebs began tearing through the earth, and the screams from the crowd pulled the focus away from my trial. This gave me enough time to escape, but as I ran over to Lucy and stopped in front of her I couldn’t move her. There was a look in her eyes unlike I’d seen in anyone else. Her already fair skin was like that of ghost, and her green irises were faded to a translucent almost white color. I screamed her name and begged her to run with me, but it was as though her mind was elsewhere, and it was irretrievable. By the time the crowd had mostly cleared, and the sky was a deep shade of charcoal, her voice passed quietly through her lips: “Go, now. This is your only chance. I’ll find you.” Her next words were so quiet I almost couldn’t hear them: “I love you” I stared into her eyes for as long as I could, both hers and mine shining like glass marbles. Even amidst the chaos, I was sure they’d seen what she could do, and I couldn’t leave until I knew she’d be safe. I focused all of my energy on her, placed my hands on her shoulders, and pictured the mayor in as much detail as I could imagine. I watched her transform, as the sharp wind pulled her long golden hair into the shorter style belonging to the man responsible for ripping this town to irreparable pieces. Leaving her ripped my soul into about as many pieces, but I believed her words, and knew we would meet again. So I turned, and I ran, leaving my home forever.
It was as if the world was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t quite know how to listen. The falling of the sun always felt like coming home- like the peaceful quiet of a room with a humming ceiling fan, cool wooden floors, and the oscillating prism of changes outside. It didn’t matter where I was, or if home was a conceptual phenomenon or a discrete location. Or even an emotion. Regardless, the setting sun cast everything in a charming light like the eyes of a lover. Isn’t it nice to think that everything can be beautiful in a moment? To be seen the way the sunset looks on the world seems a perfect place to reside. Perhaps this is what it’s like to listen…
I’ve learned to stop dreaming, Because whenever I do, it kills me.
The staring out the window, Hopeless romantic, Daydreamer, Always living in the world That’s “just a fantasy”
It slowly wears away That rigid frame of reality. So intensely, that I stopped noticing The subtle things- The delicate sounds, The back and forth Of the here and now.
But now, you see- This isn’t the daydream It’s the nightmare.
It’s the place where “Everything’s okay” “Don’t let it bother you” “It’s really not a big deal” But those things are real.
No matter how they’re painted- Whether they’re decorated Like a birthday cake, Wrapped up, Like a treasured gift, Or framed in gold, Like a masterpiece.
That’s your peace- And it’s gone.
To the dream world, The make believe, The expanding denial, The world “as it should be”
But what about the world as it is?
In another universe One less broken, Less evil and cursed Maybe then, I would find you first.
In a different moment One less fleeting, Less twisted and bent Maybe then, I would say what I meant.
But until then, When the impossible is true, When the stars fall down on you And there’s nothing left to do But be the person you always knew-
You’re hiding in the shadows, Jumping out to scare me Never where you said you’d be Never who you said you’d be.
Let me go, set me free.
If only…
The window won’t close, But take a look through- What a beautiful view… What would you do?
Fix the mistake? Take what you take? Lower the stakes? Do it or break.
Cry to your friend? Always press send? Only pretend? All over again.
Waste all your time? Say that it’s fine? Senselessly rhyme? Do it or die.
But the window’s still open It means there’s a chance To dance one more dance, With a sick, twisted romance.
It was my third summer working on the island, and I was completing my last delivery of the night. As I came around the corner, I saw my favorite view of the coast from the highest point by the north lighthouse. It was just before dusk, and the last few bands of orange light descended the rocks by the shore. My job wasn’t much fiscally, but it reminded me of a world that I could make sense of. There was only one glass bottle left in the crate resting on the handlebars of my bike as I turned the corner headed downhill along the cliff. The island was a popular destination for retreats headed by churches on the mainland around this time of year. I always received flyers and cards warning me of my eternity of suffering, but today someone left a bible on the seat of my bike while I was on a delivery. It was a strange sight, although not entirely shocking. The book was frayed at its spine and covered in sand, but it looked like it had been quite beautiful at one point. I wasn’t sure what I believed of a higher power, but I kept it anyway, laying it beside the bottle. The downhill path was steep and rocky for a few miles, and as the sun sank below the horizon, a burst of lightning took its place. The rain seemed to begin as a downpour, with no warning drops. In moments like these I found myself wondering if there was some truth in the book I now carried. My clothes grew heavy and chunks of my hair clung to all sides of my face. As the rain cascaded down my face, threatening my airways, the lighthouse returned to my line of sight. I was unafraid, and that was my last memory of the night. I woke to the sound of the waves and sand in my eyes, wincing as I noticed the shards of glass piercing my arm. As I looked around for my bike, all I saw was one tire. I imagined the rest was claimed by the sea.
I used to be afraid of music. When I was younger, I couldn’t understand why there were so many happy faces on the nights the fireworks went off. My chest hurt with no warning, and the ground threatened to crumble beneath my feet. Others told me this wasn’t music, but it felt just the same as the music that tore through the town when the annual parade marched through it. I was told that my fear was a matter of control, not avoidance, by a man who demanded authority by virtue of the framed diplomas hanging on his wall. I had never considered making music of my own, but wondered if there was any truth in the textbooks that were meant to assign meaning to life.
When I bought my first drum set, the smooth surface of the snares and cool metal cymbals warned me for the physically uprooting sensation. The shape of the instruments was purposeful, with each detail crafted to support the rhythm. With slow progress, the same feeling that once haunted me became a comforting buzz, unlike any I’d felt from the strongest of red wines, or the awakening from a cold night’s slumber. I never performed my music, and instead kept the art as a personal treasure. I was selfish because I needed to be, and that’s how I’ve assigned meaning to my life.
I wonder so often, “Am I there yet?” And ponder much further Just what I’ll regret.
Right here or just there, It does not matter. It’s out there somewhere, Outside of the chatter.
It’s cold out here, The wind is strong. It tells me my words Will always be wrong.
If only- if I, Could sing it in a song The notes would be right And my voice would live on
