Taylor Swift

Wildest Dreams- Drive

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When I asked where we were going, Mr. Prent replied, “Let’s get out of this town; drive out of the city, just… get away from these crowds of students and teachers…” And witnesses.

“I like the sound of that.”

So we went on a long drive. No destination in sight. Maybe Mr. Prent got the feeling too. He has somewhere- he didn’t know where yet, that he had to go.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke in the passenger seat, but Mr. Prent was laying in the bed of his truck, staring into the stars. I climbed out, realizing we were in a cemetery. Of all places to go, I wondered, why there?

Not that I cared. I am the picnic in the cemetery kind of gal. But she strongly advised against it- like everything else- and suggested I find more “appropriate” interests.

I wonder if she would have found this appropriate.

I didn’t say anything. Mr. Prent just looked so far away; deep in some other world. Instead, I laid there next to him. The cool metal sent chills up my spine and I shivered in the warm autumn night. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I layed my head on his chest. His cologne reminded me of a cool ocean breeze that swallows you whole… his scent is still in my hair.

I’m not sure how long we laid like that for. I started off counting seconds in his heartbeats. One, two, three, fo-ur, fivesix, seven, eight, nine, tah-en. But doing that only made me sleepy. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to hold this moment in the now and have it last forever.

I should know better than anyone, nothing lasts forever. Especially not happiness. I was happy once-upon-a-time. When I had parents- real ones- but it was so long ago it feels like a dream. Or a nightmare.

I guess he knows about this too. It was the cemetery where both his father and brother were buried. A robbery gone wrong. Mr. Prent was in college. His mother was grocery shopping. To come home and see her son and husband askew on the kitchen floor. I could just imagine her walking into the house, wondering why the door was already open. She’s talking to them- not knowing they can’t hear- going on about a great special she got at the market. Then she sees them. The blood. And bags fall out of her hands in slow-motion… It’s all a little too familiar.

A passage of Wildest Dreams & a picture It & Write inspiration!

Wildest Dreams- Haunted: A Poem

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Dark clouds in my head

Rain cascades over my ribs

Salty and acidic

Eroding my bones

I am broken

Haunted

And so far gone lost.

I thought this would be a good poem for Wildest Dreams. A little side project I am working on. Read part of it here, a picture-it & write inspiration!

Hummmm

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Just got home. 10 minutes earlier than a normal day, 10 minutes later than a good day.

God, Mondays suck.

I pick up the phone from the cup holder, preparing to text Kyle and let him know I’m home, but I am distracted by an article I was dying to read. Something about how writers kill off their characters. I thought about it, every book I have outlined, rough chapters scribbled on paper, all in my desk in the bedroom; in every story I kill someone. Then I’m thinking about Disney movies and how Mom pointed out that someone dies in every one (usually a parent).

Taylor Swift’s “All You Had To Do Was Stay” is still pumping through the Sable’s speakers. I open the door so I don’t look like one of those people who just listen to music in their car, the bass thumping away.

The wind whips through the open door and I hear it. The humming. A chill runs deep up my spine. I’m almost afraid to look, but I do. It’s a girl, a pretty ordinary looking girl. She is wearing a gray and black zipped jacket, with the hood down. Her brown hair is back with a thick, obnoxiously bright orange hair band. But it’s too thick to be a hair band, more like a sweatband. And I watch her for a moment. She just keeps walking, head down, humming. Her hum still makes me shake. For a second, I’m convinced it’s not even her. The ominous sound is all around me like a tornado.

I get inside and lock the door without looking back.

The Last Time

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He found himself at her door. Like so many times before. But he couldn’t remember how he got there. It seemed all roads lead to her.

It was a warm but cool night. He could taste its humidity on his tongue.

Had he walked? Did he drive? He couldn’t remember. Nor could he tear his eyes off of the front door to look for clues. It stood before him tall and looming. The white paint glowed in the darkness like a lantern. He couldn’t even bring himself to knock.

Would she answer if he did? She was probably in her room, all alone, asleep. She probably wouldn’t even hear him.

He whispered her name.

She could feel his call lingering like a sigh through her bones.

She could hear his heart thumping like a jack-rabbit just beyond her front door. If she laid still enough, maybe he would leave. Leave her home. Leave her memory.

“Cecilia.”

She found herself unlocking the front door like she had been in some sort of hypnotic trance.

Their eyes met.

Her heart stopped.

His heart slowed down.

It felt better just to see her face again. Calmed him. And he told her this. “I’m sorry,” he added.

He was wearing his best apology, but not even that was enough. Not after all the times she had let him in, just for him to leave. Was it worth risking another heartbreak?

He knew every promise he had made in the past, he had also broken. Anything he could have said, she would have perceived as a lie.

“Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer but positioned herself in the middle of the doorway, a hand ready to smack that front door right in his face.

“Please.”

She adverted her eyes from his. His crystal eyes always made her weak. She needed strength.

“The last time I let you in, you shattered my grandmother’s porcelain vase.” Her words weren’t grudgeful or sad. They were light and heavy all at once. Just like the night’s summer air.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Again, he pleaded, “Will you let me in?”

She closed her eyes. The way her long lashes fluttered over her rosemary cheeks made the flame in his chest dance. “How long has it been this time?

“Four months.”

She scoffed. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He spoke so low even he couldn’t hear himself whimper, “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” She laughed, but her face twisted into a knot. She laughed, but tears streamed from both of her eyes. She laughed. She sobbed. And right before him, she was breaking. There was no where for her to hide or for him. No other reasons why, just the two of them.

He broke. He was at fault, he knew. And he knew he never wanted to be the reason she didn’t smile. Be the reason she cried. “I will never hurt you again,” he swore. “I’m done with that stuff for good.”

She collapsed to her knees. Her auburn hair fell before her face like branches of a willow, shielding herself from him. This is why he was surprised when he knelt down next to her and put his arm around her, that she folded into his chest. She gripped onto his shirt with her fists and cried so hard her entire body shook against his and her throat started to become raw. With a gasp for air she said, “This is the last time I’m asking you, put my name at the top of you list.”

“Of course.”

She calmed down slightly afterwards. Tears fell silently off the point of her chin and her heart still struggled to get back to its smooth rhythmic beat. Between hiccups she repeated, “This is the last time.”

He helped her to her feet.

“This is the last time.”

He lifted her so that her head rested in the nook between his head and his shoulder.

“This is the last time.”

He carried her in.