It Was Good

First thing today, is to figure out how he will love her. He loves her, that isn’t the question. But how would he show her? Yesterday, it was with a small note, I love you handwritten on it that hid underneath her tea cup. A teacup he picked out for her and filled with black tea he steeped the way she likes it. But, today was a new day and another chance to figure out how to love her. He walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter to think. He looked around at the bills scattered in front of the Keurig and the pile of discarded recyclables by the trash. He takes a deep breath and fear overwhelms his thoughts. That feeling of not being good enough weighs him down. But she needs his love and so he pushes through it. I’ll find something in the living room. Toys surround the perimeter of the room. The plastic, colorful, and imaginative toys lighten his mood. But, his fears whisper the word tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow it will be easier he agrees. And sits in the rocking chair his wife nurses in. It’s an awkward chair, not his first choice, but it was for her. There’s no use in waiting a voice from inside says. He reaches into his pocket for a small notebook he carries around with him at work and goes to his disheveled desk for a pen hidden by months worth of mail to be organized. He walks back to sit in the awkward chair and taps his chin. Eyes shut tight, he writes I love you because you exist and I love that. Those words are embarrassing to him, but he knows she needs to hear it. So he tears the paper from his small notebook and stands up to leave it on her seat. He walks away and turns to look at the note. I should rewrite it. He takes a step. No, no she will like it. It’s good enough.  

I Crave

I crave instant gratification and

the lure of feel good meetings

with hollow words.

I want those things too

And sometimes I do indulge.

But it all leads to an empty that aches.

You know,

those scratches you can’t itch

And even though I know this,

I still have to remind myself

those things are empty

and that I’m better off home

creating something of substance

 

-Saschia

Ruined

The makeup drips down her face

Black tears

There’s more to all this

She knows it

She feels it in her bones

Even though it was wrong

She knows that too

But there was this push much stronger than before

An urge she’s never felt

She wasn’t herself or was she

Is this what being alive feels like?

It comes and goes, that feeling

Alive, is fighting the urge. It’s the torment you feel when you walk away. When he walks away. That is the alive. But, to give in, to go wherever you are pushed, that is no more than a dead leaf in the wind. Stripped from the branches. Stripped from life itself.

This moment you have as a dead leaf is your chance to fall apart, to sink into the soil, and to become part of the regrowth next spring.

You are not ruined

-Saschia