a diner on a Wednesday at midnight

They sat across from each other in a vacant diner at midnight, high out of their minds, and pancakes in front of them. The pancakes, had the couple been sober, were bad. They sucked. No one comes here and orders the pancakes, especially not in the middle of the night. But to them, two stoned 21-year-olds, they were the best pancakes they’d ever had.

The man, tall, about six foot, unshaven, stomach just about reaching the table in front of him from where he sat back on the booth, made a joke about the pancakes and the woman, despite her best efforts, laughed. She didn’t think the joke was funny, in fact it might’ve even been the worst joke she’d ever heard, but she had the social obligation to act like she cared about him.

And he thought she cared. He was so certain that she cared because he lied so flawlessly whenever she came close to catching him. He was so convinced no one would ever catch his lies; he’s been doing it his whole life, at this point change his name to Lyin’ Brian. And she didn’t want to believe he would deceive her like he did. He was so nice, and so caring, how could someone be so heartless?

So, she had her suspicions and he had his bad jokes, and together they had bad decisions. They both thought they were made for each other, how silly that seems to them now. Because when it came down to it, she could only manage a laugh with him when she smoked, and he could only exist in the world when he did. And what kind of life is that?

It’s a homework and reading kind of day

Today I’m going to catch up on reading the books I’ve been putting off and finish up my homework for the week.

The class I’m taking has been easy; it’s a general humanities class where I am basically just describing art. It’s not too hard, but the reading can be time consuming.

As far as the books go, I’ve been reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I’m about halfway through. I’d never read it before, but I’ve always liked her poetry, so I figured I’d buy it. The other book that I probably won’t get to today is the second book in the Scythe series, Thunderhead, by Neal Shusterman. I read Scythe and it took me a while to finally finish it, but it was good! It had a couple interesting twists in it that kept me entertained. I’m glad there’s three books in this series because I really did like Scythe even though it took me so long to finish.

I don’t read as much as I should. I feel like that’s a problem with a lot of writers. I want to read more this year. In the last few years, I’ve only read about one book a year, whereas growing up I would read up to ten a year. And when I didn’t have any new books, I’d reread old books.

So, no new writing today besides this. It’s a homework and reading kind of day.

The Mountains and All They Can Cure

I left the house in a rush. In one burst of manic energy, I packed for a couple days. I was at the point where I couldn’t think about anything but getting away. Anywhere was better than here. In a perfect world, I would’ve thought for months about this trip, but the fact that I didn’t have a plan made it more exciting.

It felt like everything that happened these last few months, all the pain and exhaustion, it was all leading up to my break anyway. This was bound to happen. I wouldn’t consider it a break, but my best friend called it that when I showed up at her door with a text, “Hey. You’re coming with me. We’re going to the mountains.”

“You’re crazy,” was her answer. I wouldn’t have expected any less. She packed her bags and was down in fifteen. From the driveway, she looked insane. More insane than I was. Her black hair was put into a messy ponytail with flyaways illuminated by the midday sun. She wore a gray sweatshirt and black leggings. Her backpack, stuffed full of clothes and camping equipment, was a forest green and held her sleeping bag atop it.

“I need this more than you do.”

She told me that as she threw her backpack in the backseat of my SUV.

“Hold on, do you have a tent?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Uh, no. Don’t you?” I replied.

“My brother is using it this weekend.” She groaned. I rolled my eyes.

I wasn’t sure when it was that it set in that I was an insane, spontaneous person, but by the fourth hour of our road trip, it had crossed my mind a few times.  Emma loved me for it. She could always count on me for a last-minute mania induced trip in which we find ourselves, only to lose ourselves when we come back to work the following Monday.

We laughed. We laughed a lot. The entire drive was filled up with conversation, never a dull moment. Never a moment to think about just getting stood up or not getting that promotion I really could’ve used to fuel these trips. I didn’t think about the date I was supposed to go on until Emma had fallen asleep and as I laid on the hard ground, the only way to distract myself from the pain my back felt was by thinking about the pain my now-ex caused.

I realized a while ago that I shouldn’t let myself get wrapped up in someone like him, someone still obviously going through his partying college days even though he dropped out two years ago. I knew he was bad news, Emma tried to tell me, but I didn’t care. I liked the way he looked at me when I told a story, and I liked the way he laughed too long when I told a bad joke. I liked how his hair looked in the morning before he showered, and I liked how he’d cook breakfast for me.

I knew the mountains wouldn’t have an answer, and I didn’t care. It was a distraction at least and at most it would be another story to tell: two way-too-stressed 20-something’s go on another spontaneous trip in attempt to find themselves, only to find themselves with smaller bank accounts and bags under their eyes.

Summer

I miss my carefree nature,

I miss the wind at my back,

I miss the way the sun beams glowed

early summer mornings.

I miss watching the sunrise

from my bedroom window,

and I miss watching the sunset

on the beach with the dog.

I miss the simplicity,

and how I knew it’d all be fine.

Sometimes winter gets so cold,

I fear I’ve gone as bitter as the wind.


The Wind Blows Different These Days

It doesn’t hurt anymore;

I loved you once and I love you still,

but the wind blows different these days.

I worry some days, though,

I’ll never love like I once did,

but I do still love,

it’s just different now.

I love the ocean,

I love big open fields,

I love snowfall when all my plans involve staying in.

But will I ever love another person

as purely as I once loved you?

And do I want to?

/Bonus Haiku\

It stopped hurting and

I felt something in me change.

I can breathe again.


Early December Mornings

Fresh frost coats the ground,

people dressed in coats and scarves

shiver and speed-walk to their cars.

Take one step outside,

any grogginess felt before disappears

behind the crisp December air.

Some heat up their car and go back inside,

some didn’t plan that far ahead

and instead shiver on their way to work,

and by the time they get to work

they refuse to leave the furnace they’ve created.

Two workers greet each other with a friendly,

“It’s too cold,”

while the other retorts,

“It’s too early!”

They both take sips of their hot drink,

sigh, and walk into their workplace.

The retail ship is decorated for Christmas,

but no workers have any Christmas cheer left.


Hibernating

The winter snow told me to relax,

things will work out,

just give it time.

And if it’s not okay,

have a cup of tea

and a warm blanket.

Spring will be here

and you’ll be good again.

Winters are for hibernating,

growing and healing.

But then why,

I ask myself,

do I always break down

when winter comes around?

Bitter Winds | Poem

I do miss it sometimes.

I miss the closeness,

I miss the warm feeling-

I’ve been so cold lately.

I fear, as I always do

that I won’t feel it again.

I’m destined for a life

of freezing, bitter winds.

But I’m tired of killing myself

over people who aren’t

worth a scratch or a scrape.

So, I’ll risk the bitter winds,

because I won’t freeze over

and someday I’ll find

someone worth dying for.


Oceanic Heartbreak

It felt like drowning,

yet no one could pull me out of the water.

It felt like a pressure on my chest,

but I was alone in this room.

Once it felt like a burning in my heart,

the kind that made me smile for days on end.

Then it felt like drowning again,

mixed with fire and all I could see was you.

It felt like years,

before I could smile like I once did,

but then I did again,

and it felt like floating.


I miss the feeling

I miss the feeling,

that feeling of being at home

with you.

The only problem is

there is no

you.

There is only

me

and what good does it do

when it’s late

and I’m freezing over?

My sheets don’t suffice

when all my dreams

are of your cold, bitter winds.