waiting.

time went by slowly for her; for the two of them
how often had she been checking the clock?
she thought back to when he first walked in
what time had it been?

i'm glad that you could make it.
i'm sorry to have kept you waiting.

she had been expecting him, hadn't she?
maybe she just knew that he was on his way
maybe there wasn't a specific time
her coffee had been much warmer, though
and he was sorry
to have kept her waiting
waiting.
the average person spends 45 to 62 minutes a day waiting
she had been waiting for this day
this day in this room with this man
which is why she was glad that he could make it
she was in love but she was leaving
which is why he was sorry to have kept her waiting
because he knew that she had to be somewhere else, very soon
he knew that she had waited for more necessary things
as inevitable as waiting is, he felt guilty that she had to wait
for flowers to grow
for the bank teller
for test results
for him
in 70 years, the average person spends at least 3 years waiting.
she was twenty-four.
(to be continued)

a mother's love.

the room was silent again
and dark
she would not admit her fear
there were wild horses in her stomach
the sound of their hooves pounding through her ears
or was it just the silence consuming her?
inhale: long and deep and full of life; how ironic
still, the silence was swallowing her
and then he spoke again, unexpected
your mother.
the silence, a black hole
she was strong and independent
she taught you how to take care of a family
she taught you how to love yourself
his words hung like icicles on christmas morning
there was something about the way that he spoke
the way he carefully chose his words
she felt so much though he said so little
inhale: pure and thick and passionate
safety overcame her in the presence of the stranger
there was no need to admit her fear
capturing the notorious image of her mother in the kitchen, radiating beauty and love
she blinked back just one tear
there was no need to admit her fear
(to be continued)

seven hundred and thirty

so i wake up, leave the house
it's a saturday.
the gas light appears when i start my car
like a doorbell, it rings every so many kilometres.
how much farther could i drive on 1/8 of a tank?
large double-double
$1.64, please.
clock in.
clock out.
it's already after 4:00pm
on a saturday.

i never visited today.
seven hundred and thirty days.
and the number only gets bigger.

i miss you.

i love you.

i'm sorry.

the world in her hands.

she thought about everything that was going on at that exact moment in time
the room seemed less smokey since he'd arrived
wrapping both hands around her mug, she closed her eyes for a second
your silence will not protect you.
she opened her eyes to meet his
why dont you tell me a story?
she was always the one to ask that question, but she brought him back to her childhood anyways
i used to love going for walks around the lake when i was younger
the air was cleaner and the colours more vibrant
at least it seemed that way to me
sometimes there would be one or two people walking their dogs
but most of the time it was just me; alone with the world
i remember feeling like i was holding the world in my hands
i'm not sure how, but there was one sunflower at the edge of the lake next to the rocks that i used to sit on; sometimes for hours
the wind must have blown the seeds to make it grow there; because there was only one
anyways, they're my favourite
is that the end?
she paused, laughed quietly
well it's silly, but, i've always liked to think that someone planted it for me.
as if trying to tell me that they've held the world, too.
(to be continued)

i'm sorry. did you? i'd never.

taking the seat across from her, his eyes wander
they glance for a minute at the logs, engulfed in red and orange and yellow
(he always liked the fall)
pausing for a second to stare into the distance until he met her eyes
they were green but golden as he examined them
almost counting her eyelashes; he studied
(she: the model, him: the artist)
two mugs of coffee appear between them
cream and sugar for both

i'm glad that you could make it
i'm sorry to have kept you waiting

their hearts were the only two beating in unison
in a room full of people

do you have the answer for me?
did you not have a plan B?

for the first time in her life, she felt safe
in a room full of strangers

i was counting on you
i'd never let you down

reaching across the table for her hand, she lets him embrace her thoughts
palm to palm, he wraps his fingers over hers
she has her heart on her sleeve and chipped nail polish
(to be continued)

tall dark and handsome.

she walked into the room; the air was thick and smoky
reminding her of family barbeques in the summer time
(everybody enjoyed each other's company back then)
that started out as alliteration. weird.
sitting down at a table near the fireplace, she hung her jacket on the seat back
as if it were cold; next to the fire
(how could it be?)
inhaling the mahoganey of the table top mixed with something sweet
she paused, enchanted for a second, by the drops of water sliding through the fog on the window pretending that it was a race; remembering rainy days as a child
she was complex and beautiful in a room so simple and brown
heat radiated from a shadow that approached the table
a creak in the hardwood; also mahoganey
something new to smell: spicy.
(expensive taste)
the silence became noise the noise became static
filling her head. her stomach.
endless conversation riding on the thoughts of partial strangers
strangers in a smokey room
(to be continued)