In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: All About Me
The conversation was over before it started. She stood up and adjusted her teal colored skirt, covering little it could from the breeze of precipitous peepers that only blows from the south. “Is that all?” she asked moving the hair out of face. She was the definition of beauty and she knew it too, and to have her hair cover it would be a crime against society.
“Uhh, yeah. That is all I had on my mind that I wanted to talk about,” But that was a lie, I had a few other things in my head. I was never good with words. The thought of having a serious conversation where I would need to respond instantly without having time to think scared the shit out of me. Give me a script any day. She gave me look of disapproval, the type that only an ex-girlfriend can give you, before walking away. As she turned the knob of the door that led to the void of possibilities, that would set off a chain of events that resulted in where I am today, I stood up from my chair and yelled, “
Oh, and another thing, I still love you, even if you did break my heart” is what I should’ve said, instead, “You forgot your pen.” I waved it in the air in hopes she would get the signal to come back and stay. “Keep it,” she said “I have a feeling you will have more use for it than me.” She left.
I sat where she left me for hours. My home never felt less welcoming as it did that night. I started talking to myself out loud, pacing back and forth, listening to the voice that echoed my words and clinging on to the ones that expressed my emotions. Is there another word for sad?
So for you love, I write this, the things that were never said:
Drained from the fight against your current.
Abandon ship, this is your captain speaking.
You sabotaged the boat, and I watched it sink.
On the course to nowhere
We drifted too far from the beaten path
Headed towards land where people go to commit self-centered suicide.
I’m rubber and your words are the fire that ignites my demise.
We’re never going to get ashore.
So let me tell you these words,
Jotted on paper tattooed in my head.
You’re good at talking down, but sweetie
Look in the mirror and tell me what you see?
A manifestation of your image in an unpleasant filter.
But you’re still my masterpiece.