Part of my new Story

Little pieces of past plummet through my perennial despondency, I catch the pieces in jars to light my dark rooms. I sit staring out into the cloudy mountains plump with snow, chomping away at the little flakes and filling their folds, until they are smooth. The yellow light fools the night; a friendly invitation, sleep inside the warm glow, melt the snow. Nothing, nothing, nothing, the sound of nothing, the sound of the word softly falling inside, snowflakes harboring secrets underneath, and I watch while the light of my jars dims and I’m left alone listening to the tumbling sky and whispering earth.


We left her oblivious and alone. It felt right to us. Of course we wanted to get away, feel that new light of freedom. We dropped everything and left her to her moaning and crying. I knew I would never forget her, who could? She was always there, a warning, omniscient and loving. The train chugged, and chugged, relentlessly and though we had no part in its monotonous beating, we were running and pulling and racing as fast as we could, to avoid the thoughts of leaving. I woke up to her scent and I put my clothes on to her breezes. She held me and sung me to sleep, always waiting for the second my eyelids closed to fill my dreams with unspeakable horrors. The bad dreams I could feel, and never remember. Hearts pumped her through veins, little ticks and tocks and clicks, and heart aches reverberated now and then, with her always pushing inside. We were young enough to have these memories blown up like balloons and helium, floating like artificial clouds, all colors, dreaming to fly away.