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Fight. Fight the urge. Remember why.
Fight. Fight the urge. Remember why.
It's a funny word. To not talk. No noise. Mute. I used to get in trouble by my parents (mostly my mom) when I wouldn't talk.
What if I had nothing to say?
I wish I could press the mute button on people.
Just click. And silence.
Let freedom ring, let the white dove sing Let the whole world know that today Is a day of reckoning. Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong Roll the stone away, let the guilty pay It's Independence Day.
-MM
I was calm.
I didn't look even once. I was free from the leash that bound me.
it came back on the road.
A little red mark. 1.
It's back. The tether. The knot in my stomach. The anger. The uncertainty. The trying so hard but knowing it's gone.
What used to save me is now killing me.
Slowly. A parasite.
All good things must come to an end.
Just go.
It's so nice when toxic people stop talking to you. It's like the trash took itself out.
The ocean calms me. It's thunderous, crashing, dark, yet so blue the sun that glints off the waves hurts my eyes.
Waves in. Waves out.
Never stopping for a breath, it knows what to do.
I close my eyes and feel the water engulf me.
Quiet and still, I can hear my heart flutter.
For three seconds I am at peace.
I watched you play last night. Fingers poised delicately above the keys, you inhaled and closed your eyes. Concert ready. I hold my breath in time to the beat.
Pianissimo.
Your body sways to the crescendo of the violins.
Forte.
Every half count I feel you.
Rolling hills as far as the eye can see. Sun dapples through the trees as we pass. I see children laughing and running in the grass. The playlist lands on Chris Stapleton.
Follow us to Gold's Farm! the sign on the back of the truck says.
But how do we know they're going TO Gold's Farm?
Maybe they use different trucks depending on the direction it's going?
That's ridiculous, it's too much work!
Well, obviously we can't follow them. They might be murderers.
It sees you. You know it's there, lurking in the dark shadows.
You feel yourself drifting.
Eyes closed, breathing slows.
You feel the chilled fingers grip around your torso, inching upwards.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The fingers curl around your heart and squeeze.
Don't fight.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Pizza and beer. Redneck cocktails. That was our thing. The last time I was there, the apartment was almost completely empty.
Remember when you came over and I cooked you pasta? I should have just kissed you then.
It wasn't a date!
It was.
Laughing and bullshitting over nothing and everything.