The trouble with this dance

You came into my life rather unexpectedly. I wasn't looking to meet you. I was perfectly fine just doing me. But then you had to come waltzing in like some aficionado of sorts, with your demeanor - calm, cool, collected; who danced over and whisked me away. You caught me off guard. And I was lost from the beginning.

Now here we are in this undecided tango with unplanned, discombobulated steps. The trouble with accepting your hand for this dance is I'm already lost in the moment and I don't know if it's real or if it's nothing but. Maybe we'll dance to remember. Maybe we'll dance to forget. Maybe this dance is just our bodies tangled in a moment of weakness, human desire - a need for something, a longing for more; the start of something new. Maybe we're not supposed to know what comes next. Maybe reality is the pleasure will be gone as quickly as it came.

The trouble with this dance is I'm clumsy. I can try to perfect the steps but I will always be off a beat. Sometimes I'm self conscious with my stumbles, shaken and uncertain. Even in confidence my strides are translucent, deceptively seductive to mask the chaos that precedes. This is why I dance to forget.

Because if I dance to remember, all of these beautiful moments that happened at the right time, in the right place, with the right person won't be a figment of my imagination anymore. And if I start to believe in something extraordinary, I'm only going to want to dance away the night. And I'm terribly sorry, but I just can't break another leg.

Failing Miserably

I have this uncanny feeling; but something just feels right about this.

Except I have this tendency to fall too much, to give people pieces of me so undeserving.  I find myself giving away too much trust, too much feeling - too much of me. I try to fit puzzle pieces into empty spaces in my heart that don't have a place. This tendency makes me apprehensive.

But see, I want you by my side. I want you, deep into the night, so we can dance into the dark. I've never danced like this before. I'm unsure of the steps, afraid to miss a beat; clumsy with my moves that are usually so swiftly executed. But what happens if I let you in?

You're just another chance I take, it's out of my control - and I can't stop the feeling. I've lost control and there's no turning back. I taste you on my lips, and I can't get rid of you. You're worse than nicotine. And I need you so bad.

Am I tripping? Is desire getting the best of me? I'm a hot mess, and I'm falling for you. I'm not sure what to do with this. Doubts are running around my head, but my heart is beating loud, and I don't want it to stop. It drives me crazy how much I've been thinking about you lately. I can't stop thinking out loud.

I keep telling myself run away, run away; don't chase it. Except you've got me restless. How will I fall asleep tonight? How will I rest my head? Run away, run away, don't chase it.


But somehow I keep coming back to you.

Exit Stage Left: Year Three

Tomorrow will be three years.

Three years since that night.

Three years since my intuition knew.

Three years since you invited Death in.

Tomorrow another year will have come and gone without you. Two simple words, without you, still slice gashes in old wounds poorly healed, marred with scar tissue.

That night is stuck on repeat, a constant loop replaying through my mind. I remember it vividly. 

But sometimes I wish I didn't. Sometimes I wish I could forget.

Sometimes I wish I could talk to you one last time.

Sometimes I wish I could see you one last time.

And every day I wish you were still here. But that wasn't an option, and we all knew it.

I miss you. RIP JE.

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Excerpt from "Survivors"

Except that isn’t something I can do. I can’t forget.

Forgetting isn’t in the cards.

At night, the emptiness of the house is filled with my thoughts, questions shattering into pieces as I dissect each broken shard – a nightly attempt to grasp the solution. Familiar sounds bellow through the hallways, echoing the routine I’ve come to embody.

The night is a ghost town, casting shadows of those forgotten, bringing to life memories buried by reality.

Sometimes I tell myself that replaying that night might make sense of it all.      But it doesn’t.

Sometimes I tell myself that as the days pass it will get easier.                            But it doesn’t.

Sometimes I tell myself lies to subdue reality.                                              But the truth hurts.

And you can’t handle the truth.

So the truth stays hidden, buried deep inside, locked away, impenetrable.

And it’s inside, that I weigh heavy.