wildest dreams

Wildest Dreams- Drive

Standard

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

Standard

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!

Wildest Dreams: Midnight

Standard

man_in_the_suit_by_apaxngh-d5ij9n0

Dear Journal,

It was midnight. I was up like usual, writing that poem on the left page. It was a Saturday, so I knew I wouldn’t hear from him. Weekends are the hardest. They linger like an unpleasant odor. Soured like rotten milk. And my guts feel like twisted steel. Most Saturdays I spend biting my tongue so hard it bleeds, just to keep from crying. I spend Saturdays wondering why I had to fall in love with a man I couldn’t have.

I heard the familiar sound of tires against asphalt, but when I pushed the blinds aside, I couldn’t see anything through the sheets of white rain; no headlights. I wasn’t expecting him to be knocking at my door just moments later. But there he was. White collared shirt, black vest, and gray tie. He looked like he did everyday in class. So handsome. He loomed over my in my doorway, his sleek black hair dripping over the threshold, a drop even plopped right down onto my big toe. There was a darkness overcasting his face like a shadow, but his brown eyes glowed like a shooting star. “I, I shouldn’t be here.” His voice vibrated through my chest like thunder. I couldn’t even open my mouth. What was he doing here, I kept wondering. Even after his right foot stepped in through the doorway and his strong hands cupped my face. I kept wondering even when his lips met mine and they were hard, and cold like ice, but melted into liquid under mine.

His tongue tasted like candy apples. And all I could think about was the time at the carnival with Bobbi- but that was a different time. This was now. It was happening. The very thing I had been dreaming about since the moment I saw Mr. Prent in Global history. Since the moment my name was uttered through those perfect peachy lips of his.

It was all so hot, and I mean literally hot. Clothes felt like thermal heating fabrics wrapped around my limbs. They itched like bugs crawling all over my skin. Like that time I sat on a red ant hill and was bit all over… Focus… We ripped our clothes off, freeing ourselves of the constraint and somehow we found the bedroom. Somehow we found eachother. Somehow… We managed to fit.

This morning was bittersweet. I watched Jon dress, my chest tightening. Don’t cry, I kept telling myself. Don’t cry. He stood in front of the window, the faintest light shining through the blinds as the sun began to rise. His black hair, even after patting it down, was still askew. I resisted the urge to touch him. Like maybe he wasn’t really here. Maybe he wasn’t.

After looking out at the parking lot, he turned back to me. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

I smiled- or something like it- to cover my trembling bottom lip.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

He kissed my forehead. Then turned to leave. I reached out for his hand. Savoring his warmth… But I couldn’t say what I wanted. Don’t go. Stay with me. I love you. Instead, I watched him leave.

It was the best. And the worst.

Another Picture It & Write inspiration!