22 Jun

I got a new pen. I broke it in patiently until the words that came out flowed like silk. As time went on, I wrote your name once, twice in pages far between. Slowly, without knowing how, your name was what I doodled during long phone calls and sleep inducing lectures… Each time I wrote it, my world hinged on the pause between the syllables of your name. I said it softly, with a goofy smile on my face before my cheeks became stained with red.

I don’t know what went wrong later. Sinuous, like the smoothest of chocolate, the words were pieces of my heart seared with you; crude, misshapen and jagged.

Now when I write, the ink glistens red.


It feels I have taken him into my blood. And I let him out each time I say his name, cheating time as I become one with him, if only momentarily.

Like drifting waves coming back to the shore, each time with more longing than last…

The world rushes by in a blur and it is exhilarating. Finally, I am flying instead of just looking up toward the sky. Suddenly, the landscape changes and it is all a blur. I know the pain is coming. Time slows down, almost suspended. The impact feels too long in coming, yet nothing prepares me for the eventuality.

I am left wondering if any of it was real. Or did I want it so badly I convinced myself it was?


© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.


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