Known

She carries the burden of Knowing, the heavy pain of truth.
In every handshake and flirtatious glance
In each warm hug and passing smile
She knows what will come, in the end as it always comes.
She Knows.
And she fears it gravely, yet is never blinded by that fear.
She cannot unKnow it and therefore must live with it
through it
within it.
And so it shall be written upon her stone:
All

that dares to love you

will leave you still

alone.

The Caramel Divide

(as published in both/and, 2013)

The light coming through my window is that of a dull streetlight, and I realize I’ve forgotten to close my curtains. Soft darkness and the pulsing vibes of muted snoring swallow the rest of the room. Except for me, of course—I am encased in light. I am positively glowing.

He loves me.

Curious tendrils of caramel and chocolate radiate from his sleeping form. His love for me is warm, and welcoming, and home. His love is melting and breathing and pouring into the darkness, finding its way to me and shining bright. He asked me for nothing and gave me his love without the slightest demand or expectation.

The mocha swirls surround me. I can almost taste the cocoa, the sugar, the savory sweet. He loves like a child, with no thought of repercussion, and the innocence is breathtaking.

The clock is not moving. The traffic is silent. I am here, and he is here, and this is now. The scent of toffee lingers on my tongue, the russet fragrance of broken love screaming out for one last chance. A chance only I can give.

There is nothing but this.

Love is all I see, I feel, I touch. The caramel trembles at my fingertips and begs to be addressed. Reality is lost in whirls of chocolate. I do nothing to stop it. I want to be swathed in this hurricane; I cannot think, cannot blink, cannot breathe without its saccharine air in my lungs. I need this.

I wonder if this is how dying feels. Slipping away from the world, trapped in a moment that can neither live nor die. This span of seconds, it will end before I wish it to, and then it will last forever.

My eyes wander to his face and see that he, too, is watching me. He has awoken and joined me in this place, this moment, this time. He feels it. I feel it.

His cerulean stare sets the chocolate on fire. We are burning, he and I, without a single word or touch. I make no move to escape the vortex of coffee and butterscotch. My entire life has been wasted in a world that never knew such perfection.

In the days to come, when this is remembered, it will only be a horrible sketch of what I saw. I will never again be in this place, this moment, this time.

Unwillingly, reluctantly, I fall asleep.

Sputtering

The engine is off, but he's not ready to get out of the car. Turning the key was more of an automatic gesture. His father's voice echoes somewhere in a memory, reminding him to save his gas instead of wasting it.

This car smells like his father. Something about the leather and the faint smoke brings an image of the old man to the forefront of his mind. Dad didn't smoke when Chuck knew him, but the garage held that lingering scent from before his time, and the stench clung to Dad's clothes after he spent long hours tinkering on some old machine that might never run again.

The car he sits in now, waiting outside the house, had been one of those machines, back when he was just a kid and driving was a far-off fantasy. Dad had bought it used from the neighbor down the street, and together he and Dad had rolled it to their house. It didn't run then. And now Chuck could not imagine driving anything else.

This is all Dad had left him, an old boat of a car. Few memories, good or bad. Just a car that ran well despite its age and wearing down.

Chuck knows that he's getting older and wearing down, too. His patience is not what it used to be, and he spends a few evenings each week alone with a six pack and his thoughts. So maybe Dad left him more than a car, after all.

The porch light comes on, and Chuck sighs, knowing he can't hide out here much longer. Nieces and nephews are huddled in the window. They're excited to see him, but they don't understand why. He knows it's more about the bag of presents in his trunk and less about his sparkling personality. Like a cheap champagne, he's not so much "sparkling" as he is explosive and bitter.

Dad left him some sarcasm, too.

He could turn the car back on. He could drive away, and save himself the agony of small talk and empty compliments and questions he can't answer. He could turn around and never come back.

But he won't. His father's voice reminds him that that would be a waste of gas. And Chuck refuses to allow himself to be any more of a waste.

She's an idiot, really.

She stares at the computer screen and contemplates running for her life.

She's a writer, but not that kind of writer. Not the kind that bares her soul for all to see.

Well, she kind of is. She's always had a blog. Not the kind of blog that she wants anyone to read, though. The kind of blog that stays neatly tucked into the anonymous corners of cyberspace.

This will be different. This will be a place where readers can browse her inner musings and pick them apart at their will. This will be a place where she can share those piles of short stories and poems and vignettes (oooh, fancy) that never made it to publication.

Some of it might be inspired by the moment. Some of it might be heavily edited before release.

She holds her breath and presses the button, and her first author blog takes shape.