my spit is blue from the half bottle of merlot that i swallowed
i haven’t replied because i don’t know how to not end with i love you
my tongue feels like an ashtray because smoke is easier to inhale than the truth and i am burning away the memory of your fingers on my skin
your toothbrush isn’t lying next to mine anymore
staring and i’m wearing my glasses but still can’t see,
it’s not because i am crying it is because my heart is blackened
it’s blocking out the light
the blossom of your chest in the firelight
and the way the sand crept up your left calf,
the salt water sounds like a meditation tape
and you are the breath that brings clear clouds
to the crowded sounds behind my eyes
it was comfort, i’m sorry
i am riding the troughs of the dark blue waves
the foam is in my eyes
all i can taste is salt
and i am forgetting how sweet the air is
at the start
scrawled in my notebook and unfinished on the train 10/04/14
She had forgotten,
what it felt like to be loved,
and it cost her life
She was sat at her desk, mindlessly staring at a spreadsheet on her laptop screen. The radio whispered and crackled in the background. She tapped on her keyboard and chewed her pen, for hours, finishing work that was long overdue - not that work being overdue from her was a massive change from the norm. Bored and disinterested she stood up to stretch her legs and get a cup of tea - and it was then she heard it. The soft piano notes and the husky lyrics of that song. That song. Her throat closed and for a moment it felt like she couldn’t breath. Her chest caved in and she hugged herself trying to keep her insides from exploding out. It was pain, physical pain that she felt. That song reminded her of him. Him. She couldn’t even think his name, let alone say it out loud. She hadn’t spoken of him in months. She couldn’t bear to. And no longer anyone asked about what happened. They knew they wouldn’t get a reply. Her face felt like it was crumbling, and her knees did and she fell to the floor. Her eyes trickled and her breath was catching her throat. The long sombre end of the song poured out of the speakers and the music finally silenced. She sat curled with her back against the wall til daylight turned to dusk, and til her tears ran dry and her mind could no longer remember any more about him. Him.
She sat staring out the window at the amber streetlights pouring light on to the pavements outside her window. Her blurred vision distorted the shapes of the people walking by underneath her feet. She blinked back the tears, but with every second another flashback would hit her, like a punch to the stomach that caused a hollow pain to ripple through her chest and throat, and another sob would choke. She looked up to the sky. A few solitary stars were peeking through the wispy cloud cover. They were so far away. As far away as she felt from everyone she knew and loved. She felt so alone.
For mrslinguistics: “Music.”
He settled onto the stool, the worn out cushion soft beneath him. His fingers rested on the ivory keys of his father’s piano. He couldn’t play, well, he’d never tried in his life, but he’d grown up listening to this instrument. Endless tunes, classical, jazz or show tunes, flowing out from the piano into the living room. He would have sat, as a child, at his father’s feet, watching him play. He loved it, he lived for it. He thrived on the tinkling sounds and they soothed him. He couldn’t imagine what a life without this piano would have been like, a life without music. Music was such a beautiful thing. Something to be shared, something that could divide or bring together. Such a powerful emotive tool. Something that everyone had an opinion on, and a preference of. He pressed the closest key to the finger resting on the piano, and a quiet note resonated around the room. His other fingers followed, tapping keys at random and a tune began to form. The widest smile he’d ever smiled spread across his face.
She perched, crossed-legged on her window sill, lipstick stained cigarette resting in-between her index and middle fingers of her left hand. The early morning sun picked out the auburn tones of her long hair, but only hi lighted the dark circles under her eyes. Dark circles from so many sleepless nights. Sleepless nights spent sat in bed, smoking and drinking tea, or the same, just in another part of her London city flat. She often dreamed of seeing the stars again, like she used to as a teenager. She’d swing her legs out of the window and gaze up into the sky, but only grey and orange clouds swam on the night horizon. Not that she could see far, office and accommodation blocks obstructed most of her view. She remembered when she used to sneak out of the house as a kid, and run, barefoot, up the path to find a darker spot of the garden so that she could see the stars. So many of them. All bright and shining down on her. She remembered that she’d look up into the sky and watch the stars for hours. She wondered about what they were made from, why they were there, how far away they really were. She’s look up into the sky and realise how insignificant each human being’s life really is. How insignificant she was. But she’d also realise how beautiful life was. She didn’t need to see the sky or the stars to feel insignificant now. But she’d forgotten how to see the beauty in everything. She took a last drag of her cigarette and swung her legs back into the flat.
The leaves do not move beneath her feet,
the heel on her shoe makes no sound on the stone.
She looks to the skies,
and she whispers,
"take me, let me away from this place."
But the sky has no reply for her.
An angel face,
entraps a tormented soul.