finishing the dishes, i dry off my hands grabbing my wedding bands off the hook my husband screwed into the wall when i complained i didn’t have a place to put them when i did the dishes. he always cooked while i wrangled the kids to get ready for bed and then we’d switch, him helping them brush their teeth and me cleaning the kitchen. looking down at my hands i center my wedding bands and head the couch to throw on netflix hoping it will help lull me to sleep.

waking up rolling off the couch, i head to the coffee machine to begin my morning. the chaos of the day unfolds from the usual wake up routine of three kiddos getting them dressed, packed, and out the door ready for school. We’re sitting in the long drop off line waiting to get out of the car, while they sing loudly to “be a man” from mulan. my coffee barely holding me together this morning, they hop out of the car shuffling into to school my youngest turning around and waving goodbye. then it’s off to my own job for the day and then back again sitting in the pickup line waiting for the three smiling faces of my boys. buckling my kids in, i hand them each snacks that i packed this morning getting them ready to roll off to their after school sports.

sitting on the bleachers watching them practice i take some time to write out my grocery list for tomorrow. soon im loading them back up into the car to head home. we fall out of the car and bringing the mess with us into the house, ushering the boys upstairs to get showered and changed into pjs while i rush to make dinner. sitting around the table talking about our days and then chasing them up the stairs to brush their teeth. finally, we’re reading books and i’m watching their eyes flutter shut.

i wander back down to the kitchen to pickup the mess and wash the dishes. walking up to the sink i reach down to remove my wedding bands as normal, grief wrecks my insides as i remeber he’s no longer here. fuck cancer. instead i leave my wedding bands on and turn to the living room wrapping myself in a blanket still smokey with his scent. my mind spirals thinking of everything he will miss. letting myself break a little, i cry, knowing the boys can’t see me, i close my eyes hoping to see him in my dreams.

When all the colors are surrounding me in my bed Life wasn’t meant for sorrow But why do I feel so black and blue, Why is it all in my head? The bright lamp is my ego The floor my soul

Give me a reason to why I need my shoes on the other side The ceiling is leaking once again With the storm overdue to subside Give me a reason why I need to climb mountains And swim with the sharks Or to change who I am? Do I need to jump off cliffs to feel alive or dive in the sky for my vision to see the brightness of a lamp like this At 3:48

To be in multiple places at once To feel as if I’ve stepped on every grass of each field, Just for the flowers to feel my presence. My emotions are my seasons My mind the storm overdue to subside

If time will pass me by Where is the love of my life? I’ve been patient enough To the point that I consider swimming with the sharks! My imagination a tower My fears the dragons, Are dreams just a figment of my tower?

The reason will always come At the aftermath of things, I suppose. Surely you wont have a conclusion Till after the experiment And you and I, the subjects: We wait for that aftermath.

I long for the wake At the end of a long slumber “Time can only tell”, I say to myself. Confusion in the darkness with 3 cups of sigh I breathe in and out From the aftermath of my caffeine kick.

My mind is still swimming “in my own sharks”, I suppose. And for I, the subject can only share this point in time with this bright lamp at 3:48

The Letter

Every Saturday morning, just as the sun was beginning to filter through the thin curtains of her kitchen, Marla would sit down with a cup of coffee, a slice of toast, and her stack of letters. They weren’t the kind of letters that carried declarations of love or the warmth of friendship. These were bills, reminders, and the occasional advertisement, the mundane correspondence of everyday life.

But this Saturday was different. As Marla flipped through the envelopes, one stood out. It was smaller than the others, with her name and address written in careful, slanted handwriting. There was no return address. The paper was slightly yellowed, like it had been sitting in a drawer for a long time, waiting for the right moment to be sent.

She set down her coffee and ran her fingers over the envelope, her mind racing through possibilities. Was it a mistake? Or maybe a letter from someone she had long forgotten? Marla carefully opened the envelope, her hands trembling slightly, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The letter was short, just a few lines written in the same neat handwriting.

_"Dear Marla,

I hope this letter finds you well. There are things we never spoke about, things that perhaps we should have said but never did. I wanted to reach out before it was too late, to tell you that I’ve thought of you often over the years. I hope you’ve found happiness in the life you’ve built.

With warm regards,
A friend from the past."_

Marla read the letter twice, then a third time. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to place the handwriting, the tone, the mystery of it all. Who could have sent this? The letter was unsigned, giving no clue as to who this friend from the past might be.

She sat there for a long time, the steam from her coffee swirling in the morning light, the toast forgotten on the plate. Memories began to surface, faces and moments she hadn’t thought of in years. Could it be an old classmate, a neighbor from her childhood, or perhaps someone from her early years in the city, when she was still finding her way?

The truth was, Marla had spent much of her life moving forward, rarely looking back. She had always been too busy, too focused on the next step, to dwell on the past. But this letter, this simple piece of paper, had stirred something deep within her. She felt an ache, a longing for something she couldn’t quite name.

Over the next few days, Marla found herself thinking about the letter constantly. She dug out old photo albums, searched through drawers for mementos of a time she had almost forgotten. Each time she did, she hoped for a spark of recognition, something that would reveal the identity of her mysterious correspondent. But nothing came.

She even considered showing the letter to her friends, but something stopped her. This felt too personal, too intimate to share. It was as though the letter had been written just for her, a quiet nudge from the universe to remind her of something important.

As the days turned into weeks, the mystery of the letter began to fade, but its impact did not. Marla started writing letters herself, reaching out to people she hadn’t spoken to in years, rekindling friendships that had long since cooled. She found herself more open to conversations with strangers, more willing to listen to the stories of others.

The letter had been a small thing, just a few lines on an old piece of paper. But it had sparked a change in Marla’s life, one that she hadn’t known she needed. It reminded her of the importance of connection, of the ties that bind us to our past and to each other.

And so, every Saturday morning, as she sipped her coffee and sorted through her letters, Marla would smile to herself, thinking of the day a simple letter had arrived in her mailbox and changed everything.

Matthew POV

I check my bag. Warheads? Check. Little square cute sandwiches that Blair requested? Check. A mouth spray? Whoops, forgot about that one.

Blair POV

"Thanks Debbie!" I call.

"Send me a picture of you and your friend doing homework. Or one of those times lapse videos. I will be here at 2."

"Okay! Bye!" I turn around and practically run into the grassy fields.

"Blair?!"

I sigh and slowly turn my head back.

"Yes Ms. Debbie?"

"No phone. Come back here and give me your phone."

"But what if I-"

"Give. It. Now!"

"Yes, Debbie."

I carefully hand her my phone. I flinch when she grabs it from my hands. She puts on a fake smile so I do too.

Once she's gone I run into the grass and smile as I lay down the red and white designed blanket. It's the perfect picnic blanket, and all I have to do is wait for Matthew.

Matthew POV

I see her long flowy blonde hair before I see her big smile. I start to walk faster with every wave she sends me.

"Matthew!" she calls.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

I get to the edge of the blanket when she stops me with a funny look.

"What?" I question her with a smile on my lips.

"Take your shoes off first. I thought you knew that."

I chuckle and slide off my big brown laced hiking boots. They're dirty from the walk over here, and all the camping I've done in the last year.

I step onto the soft crunchy blanket and sit where Blair's hand patted. This is perfect. Life is great.

Blair POV

"Sandwiches?" I eagerly ask. I've been waiting all week for these delicious things.

His eyes twinkle and I start to giggle as he pulls out the little baggies.

"I'd thought you would want the Warheads first."

I giggle even more and I feel my cheeks get warm. I've dreamt about our kiss since the moment it stopped. His lips on mine, the tangy sour taste, and most of all, how it wasn't perfect. But nothing is perfect, and I couldn't have wished for a better first kiss.

"Well, maybe we could have a candy or two before we eat," I say slowly.

He grins and snatches the candy quicker than I thought possible. He's already popping a yellow one in his mouth before I could even react.

"Green?" he asks, mouth full and his lips starting to pucker.

I giggle, plop the sour candy into my mouth, sigh, and close my eyes. His non-perfect lips and are on mine and my brain looses all thoughts. I kiss him back and wrap my arms around his neck. He pulls back and looks at me, with pure admiration in his eyes and smile.

Matthew POV

After a few, sour kisses later, I start to unwrap the 'cute square sandwiches'. Blair practically claws them from my hands, sure to thank me a thousand times. I smile sadly, knowing this is probably the best meal she's ever eaten.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" she cries and kisses me with a hint of egg salad in her mouth.

I place a wide grin across my face and slowly eat my own egg salad sandwich. There not the best, but there could definitely be a worse option. I, personally, like tuna better, but today all I could think about was Blair.

"Your welcome your welcome your welcome! Glad to be of service."

She giggles, and seeing her smile tells me all I need to know.

Blair POV

"You don't know how to braid hair?!"

"No... should I?"

"Well, speaking you have five sisters, I would assume so."

He chuckles, and I smile as he attempts to do his own version of a braid. I stop him, and turn so we are side by side.

"Okay, so I'll take a small strand to start. You split it into three pieces, and-" I continue to explain, but I can tell he is only looking at my eyes in awe.

"Matthew!" I saw his arm and he turns back to focus.

"No, it's okay, I got it. Let me try."

He looks down, intently at my hair and turns all business. It almost looks like he's sweating, just to get this braid right. He finally finishes, like ten minutes later. I tilt my head back to laugh, when Matthew leans back with me. I don't laugh, and give him a questioning look. I glance down at the braid and realize some of his hair got stuck in the attempted hairdo. I laugh and he chuckles.

"Now we are braided together as one," I joke.

Matthew gives me a serious stare, and leans in. His lips brush my own, and I know this is a moment we will never forget.

“Love, where did you put the laundry basket!? I want to throw in a load before I go to work!”

“I already did it!”

“…what do you mean you already did it?”

“I put the laundry in a while ago. Have a good day at work.”

“Where did the dryer sheets go, babe?”

“Oh I used the last one earlier. I put them on the shopping list”

“Used them for what?”

“The laundry of course, silly”

“You did all the laundry?”

“Yea, I just finished putting it away”

“Hey! What’re you doing with that?”

“I’m getting ready to put in the clothes before we leave.”

“Nuh uh, hand that over. Thank you.”

“I can do the laundry, you know.”

“I know you’re capable, but just let me do it, okay babe”

“Have you seen my green sweater?”

“Yea I put it in the washer, there was something on the sleeve so I wanted to wash it before it got stained”

“Thank you babe”

“Did you put in the laundry yet?”

“Yup, it’s almost ready to switch over”

“I can do it.”

“Nope, you can’t. I will”

“Hey, can you add detergent to the shopping list? I just used the last of it”

“Sure”

“The clothes always smell so good after you wash them. I love the detergent you use”

“Thanks babe, I’m glad you like it”

“This shirt smells so good, I don’t even want to put perfume over it”

“Haha it does smell good. You always smell good.”

“Thank you babe”

“Babe…?”

“…babe…”

“.. The hamper is full… the.. the laundry has to be done”

“…babe?..”

I could no longer stand the smell of that detergent, of those dryer sheets. Every whiff, every breeze, every time. All I was reminded of was you. Now you’re gone and laundry has turned into my worst nightmare. Not just a chore, but a curse. I wish I could just hug you one last time and catch that smell in bliss. Just one last time.

I used to love being awake

But now every morning My bed clings onto me like a desperate lover

Trying to keep me Wrap me Comfort me and Trap me In the weighted blanket Of her soft touch

It didn’t used to be this way Well, I guess it always kind of has been But not this bad

As if there is no other world worth existing in Other than under my covers

Covers that wrap me in the soothing cocktail of escape and apathy As my life moves on without me And I don’t have to face the day and its swarm of relentless nagging question marks

Or have to make an effort To go after what I really want

It’s stifling but it’s safe here In the adoring embrace of nothing

So instead of trying I set four alarms and snooze all of them

And get up only when forced by a consequence

So I can stay for as long as possible In my bed’s loving clutches

It’s heavy under my comforter But when you’re overwhelmed Forgetting your dreams is a drug

My heart beats like an anchor against my ribs

Darling

Where are you?

I slept inside your silhouette Tonight, Crawled against it like a crescent moon.

I think it gave me A little less empty.

I held your echo to my chest, Let it restart my heart, even when it meant Ignoring the gnaw of want within The cage of my bones.

This was a Nothing, An Inconsequential bit of routine, But now it means something— Pressing the afterimage of your skin Into my eyes, nose, teeth

It reminds me of how Lost, how anchorless I am Without you.

“Think of the children” she tells her little brother after he refuses to turn off the light. A lie they both knew.

“Think of the children” she tells her mother in line when she won’t buy her a cookie.

“Think of the children” she says ending her work presentation.

“Think of the children” she tells the man she is trying to sell to.

“Think of the children” she preaches to the masses as she declares war.

“Think of the children? Ha.” A teenager mocks as she stand over her a gun pointed towards the dictators heart.

“Think of the children? Really?” The teen mocks again before pulling the trigger.

“But…Think- of the children”the dictator gasps her blood spilling over the marble floors.

Think of the children, the dictators last thought. Always and forever a lie.

I was waling to the damn cending machine to get a package of overpriced gummies. Thats it. All I wanted was some fricking gummies. But no, I can’t even get some damn gummies without getting harassed.—Motherfuckers.

Jackasses. They were nothing but fucking jackasses. Saying how they wanted to gang rape me. Fucking wrestling each other. One saying how he knew I wanted it. Telling his friend to get on that. —Mother— freaking— fuckers.—

I mean what— the hell.

And I know what you’re going to ask next. What was I wearing? Well, you little shit, I was wearing a hoodie and jeans. Head. To. Toe. —Happy now?—

Damn pieces of dipshit ruined my week. I can’t fucking walk in the halls for all of four minutes of passing time without having a fucking panic attack. As someone who has experienced violence and sexual violence, I couldn’t hadle it. All these emotions I’ve been trying so desparately to shove down for the past ten years just got yanked to the surface by their greedy little claws.

My damn school didn’t even fucking do shit. All they did was give the future rapists a good old fashion talking to. Little pricks.

And I couldn’t even feel my damn emotions without being “defiant”. Fuck that. Defiant is refusing to hand over the smoke bomb you’re about to put in tge microwave. Defiant is NOT having Vocal Cord Dysorder, a disability typically brought on during anxiety attacks that causes the vocal cords to stop working, therefore, I can’t talk. People are so self centered they think that me not talking to them is such a big deal and that I’m doing it specifically to them, to hurt them. Fuck that. Ain’t no fucking half-assed nurse whi hasn’t ever shown up on time that important to me. Like sorry honey, but I don’t give a shit about you. And seriously, my pet had a fucking siezure before school and I still got here on time. Bitch.

I mean let a kid have an anxiety attack. Let me deal with my shit without sounding the alarms for Pete’s sake! I don’t want to spend my lunch period getting chased around by a big ass bitch and administrators. All I wanted to do was feel safe for a few minutes and then go take a shit. Is that too much to ask for!?!

God. I can’t catch a fucking break at this school. If you need to vent about ANYTHING that has happened to yoy at school, go for it. It is off your chest. Comment your troubles and anger. As a disabled, trans teen, I get it. High school is so fucking hard for any “normal” person. Your not alone in this. Even if you haven’t found your ally in person, I’m here. And I’m sure there are tones of other people just like you and me.

To turn or not to turn, that is the question. My signal is flashing but my foot is hovering hesitantly over the brake. Going right at this junction will take me the quickest route into town, but the journey is dark and deserted. I’d drive for miles between areas with cellphone reception. Going straight will take longer but the roads are more well lit. There are more buisnesses and neighborhoods and cell towers. Most importantly, this path leads me west at sunset and the sky is exploding with buttery reddish rays of light that brush softly against the underside of some dark heavy clouds. It looks like the sky is on fire and smoking. It’s particularly and unusually beautiful. I decide that taking the scenic route is worth it. I ride into the sunset with the window down and a warm melody accompanying the breeze. When the world suddenly begins to roll I don’t have time to stop the car before I lose consciousness. It feels like only a blink but apparently I was in a coma for three and a half weeks. My neurgosurgeon says I should have died — the aneurysm was what he termed “catastrophic”. My cardiologist claims it should have been “medically impossible” for my heart to keep beating even with the massive tear in one of my ventricles (or something). My family showed me pictures of the wreckage; it was all fire and smoke and it blended in almost perfectly with the sky. Everyone said it was a miracle my body didn’t crumple and contort the way the car did. It was a miracle a state trooper happened to be posted right up the road, who saw the whole thing and managed to extract me from the car before the fuel tank ignited. Miracles everywhere. That’s what they say. I don’t know if that’s the case. But I’m glad I let myself drive towards the sunset. I’ll never know for sure but I really doubt there would have been a first responder just waiting and ready on that other road if I’d chosen to turn right.

——

Lot of mistakes in this one but I just don’t want to lose my streak lmfao. Leave constructive feedback if you’d like but I’m just saying I probably know but just didn’t have the energy to tweak it.