He stands in the doorway, framed by light that dared to slip in ‘tween the slats.
He moves closer and I can smell his shower gel.
Leaning in, he whispers the three words women long to hear: “Your coffee’s ready.”
I sigh happily, sit back against the pillows, and know all is right with the world.
They gazed at the soft, perfectly-formed bundle lying on the bed, so new to the world.
They smiled. They cooed. Bringing it home was the best thing they’d done.
They held hands and lay down, staring up at the ceiling in thrill and anticipation.
And that, my friends, is how the Tempurpedic mattress came home.
“It’s nice knowing you,” he said, as always, simple and heartfelt.
And her smile spread slow and wide.
Turning down the lights, they climbed under the covers, sporting blobs of Vicks and night cream (respectively); the Boy and his Missus shook on it and kissed, and congratulated themselves on 5 years of good old-fashioned lovin’.
I speak not of my city
Not because prettier climes lure me
I speak not of my city
Not because I forget
I turn away
Face another reality
Willfully rejecting the one
That sees my back.
In these ways and all moments, I
Silence the pain
Bury the longing under pillows
And sit on it.
The streets of the South Bay are littered with them, lying forlorn and agape by the side of an open drain, watching me as I drive about my daily business. Occasionally, I’ll stop, pick one up and add it to my Bag of Definite Articles, to donate to yet another person who habitually drops them.
She sat alone in the car, mopping tears that sprang when she heard those lines.
“Every place I go, I think of you; Every song I sing, I sing for you.”
Then she busied herself tidying up her face. Wiped clean, sniffle-free, composed.
Wicked stepmothers can’t be seen missing little souls not born of them.
In bed, he was a brute. Not nasty, he just didn’t realize his strength. Which is why I’m particularly touched when he wishes me on every birthday and Nourooz, taking care to include the names of his wife and son. Wait, how could I know how he was in bed? It happened on the floor.
She stared at her “canned” section testily. Ran her eyes over the months with odd-numbered posts. Felt dissatisfied about those that didn’t end evenly.
December: 15 posts
May: 7
And then, just because she couldn’t bear one more month of unevenness, she ratcheted up the word count and ended September with a respectable 10.
Whew.
[Note: Link to actual events here.]
.
Love made me do it. Love made him do it.
My love for the city. His love for me.
“For you, my love, I walk today,” one sore foot sighed to the other.
And the objects of adoration glowed gently in the January sun.
Another year, another marathon, and love that’s a long walk home.
I said your name aloud today.
After weeks and months and years.
It stumbled out stiltedly, the awkward syllables elbowing each other in an upward bound elevator; and as it floated away into the ether, I stared after it like I would a stranger, barely able to recognize the word I had once passionately moaned.
Ultra Violet
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
Vox populi