stories - thirteen

Waiting.
She was waiting.
She had been there, almost everyday.
Ordering the same cup of double espresso,
and was waiting...
She was observant.
Loved to look around.
Make up stories in her head.
She was waiting, really though.
That's all she was doing,
as she sat by herself looking at magazines.

stories - twelve

Keeping up pretenses is important, they said.

You are weak, a flower that can be crushed

easily in the softest of palms.

Be bold, a bitch, they said.

Fuck everyone in your path, they advised.

They told you your differences were your weaknesses.

You wouldn't grow.

You're too normal. You're nothing.

You haven't done anything. You're really nothing.

She thought about all of this.

Long and hard.

Long and hard.

Every damn day.

Every damned day.

The world was as fucked up,

as we left it last.

stories - eleven

Everything's bullshit.
Oh, come on.
Like you didn't know before.
Don't get attached.
Live your life, disconnected.
Everything sucks.
This is writing but it isn't
anything.
Nothing's good enough.
You never were,
You never will be.
But just live.
Fucked up as it is seems
This world we're a part of.
Breathe, for your time here
is short.
Who cares, really?

stories - ten

She told me to keep writing.
Keep writing, even when there are blocks...
Write. It doesn't have to make sense, she said.
Write, write, write, write, write.
And thoughts of him began to blossom.
I can't, she whimpered...
He's all I can think about.
So...
Write about him then.
But just please...
Keep writing.

stories - nine

she fucking hated the word quirky.
it was just sooooooooooooooooo...
you know. but why think about it?
she thought to herself. let me just...
buy my groceries, read my book
and make plans to go to new york.

stories - eight

they shared their birthday.
only she thought it was special.
weird, cool... something like magic.
he thought her to be a fool
a cute fool, but a fool...
why do you have all these weird notions?
whatever, you suck, she said and smiled.
they were going out, for the first time - tonight.

stories - seven

she was crying, again.

what shall i tell her? he thought

he was just as upset as her.

he did love her but he was afraid.

he didn't want to break himself,
anymore than breaking her.

he grabbed her hand and squeezed

she knew all she had was now.

stories - six

She asked me to tell her a story.

I tried hard to think of one.

What must I tell her?

Panic was creeping in.

I don't know how to tell stories, I thought.

But I like to read them.

And hear them...

Why am I so weird?

She wants me to begin, now.