Drabbles

Drabble on, I seem to get stuck sometimes. It seems like such writings should have some kind of rhythm, like a poem. So many drabbles I have tried to start, but only end with the delete key. None of these will ever be masterpieces, but I can’t seem to just let them be a scattered mess. Though in reality that is all they really are. A scattered mess of ideas, from pure fiction, to carefully constructed reflections of my feelings. So hard to say something meaningful in exactly one hundred words. Make it sound thoughtful, not just some jumbled mess.

Ending

Waiting for an ending. A little terrifying as you try and stare it down. Still not feeling ready to let go. Why it all has to feel so final. Yet somehow it seems you’ll never see these faces again. Every walk down that path, or through that hallway, starts to feel like it could be the last. When it all started with so many hopes, and dreams. So much promise of all the things you desired, now fallen to the ground, dust in the wind. Continually turning around, hoping to make this feeling, this moment linger just a little longer.

Don't

Don’t say see you later, when we will never meet again. Don’t ask me how I am, if you really don’t even care. Don’t tell me it will be alright, when you don’t know that for sure. Don’t just be friendly, if you don’t want to be my friend. Don’t say I’m funny, when you’re really laughing at me. Don’t tell me lies, when you know it will hurt more in the end. Don’t promise me anything, because you can’t promise it won’t all go wrong. Don’t walk away without leaving something behind, because I still want something to remember.

Perceptions

Ever feel like people should come with labels? To tell you all the vital factual information. Would you alone get to walk with out one? Probably not. How then would you label yourself? Could you? What would others consider vital information about you? What label do you think you already wear on your back? I never know how others see me. I guess I assume people see me as I do. Perhaps that’s one of my biggest problems. Even though I know we all perceive differently. What do people perceive of me? Is it more correct than what I do?

His Park

He looks back and forth before stepping out. Looking up at the fluffy white clouds as he stepped up onto the other side of the street. He smiled and waved at the old lady who ran the corner market. Stopping at the corner for traffic. Nearing the park he spotted his favorite swing was free. His step quickened and he sat down in the swing. He looked to his left at the kids on the jungle gym. This park had been his favorite at that age, and still was. He came here to reflect, to seek solace in hard times.

Consumed

Every few minutes it’s inevitable. A thought that does nothing but distract the mind from everything else. Maybe it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s just random. But guys are on the brain, and there’s nothing to be done about it. It changes how my days run, how I sleep. It’s disruptive, but somehow I can’t stop it. Maybe I don’t want to stop it. Or I only want it to stop when I finally get my way. I want this to end differently than all the times before. I don’t want it to wear off until I’m satisfied.

Behind the Curtain

She spotted him as he slipped behind the curtain. Curiosity made her follow, she pushed through the dark velvet and saw him standing there. He looked at her a little surprised, then smiled at her. He asked what she was doing here. She only shrugged, and moved to go. He motioned her to come all the way in, asked what she thought. She said it was nicer in here than out there. He nodded and smiled at her again. There was a moment of silence between them, then he said she looked nice tonight. She blushed slightly and moved closer.

Lust

He grabs her arm and pulls her in. Click, lock, no one else can come in. Their lips lock, their hands begin to wander. The passion takes over as fingers seek buttons, and their covers are quickly shed. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his back. A soft growl, somewhere between pleasure and pain rumbles in his throat. Her back against the wall, she hooks a leg on his hip. They pay no matter to the people passing by the other side of the door. This moment can not wait. Patience is not to be had any longer.

In the Darkness

In the darkness everything is obscured. The vision is cut down, cut off, everything is unclear. The little dots of light only serve to sooth the other senses. Giving the impression we can see through the darkness now. Twisted visions all the while leading us astray onto strange paths. The eyes adjust to the altering conditions the best they can. So poor the vision in darkness is though. Even with the brightest of flashlights, darkness remains just beyond the reach of the light. So many ways for the light to twist and bend, leading us to places we never planned.

Note: I know, it's April Fool's Day and I'm all serious. What can I say, April Fool's Day has never been a holiday I was much on embracing.