I Blamed it on the Solar Eclipse

You popped into my mind and I almost drove through a red light.

I blamed it on the solar eclipse.

It has nothing to do with me still knowing your birthday.

 

My thoughts drifted to the feel of your body pressed against mine.

I blamed it on the solar eclipse.

It’s not because I still think I might love you.

 

My stomach feels empty and I turn away from the food on my plate.

I blamed it on the solar eclipse.

I forgot that I don’t eat when I’m stressed.

 

My eyes have been puffy, red and sore all day.

I blamed it on the solar – actually I blamed this one on my allergies,

But one pill and four hours later and the pollen levels must be pretty high – I didn’t spend the whole night crying.

Advertisements

Good Enough

He was a heavy weight on her heart. His sweaty chest pressed against hers, pushing her into the mattress below.

She was trapped.

She rubbed her hands up and down his back, willing him to roll over.

He should know by now. She didn’t like him crowding her. She needed her space afterwards. She needed room to breath.

He sighed and rolled onto his back.

She missed his heat.

Was she really ready to let that go?

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Come back.” She commanded to the ceiling.

He rolled back into her, pressing kisses along her neck. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into the touch.

This – this was fine.

Good even.

He cared about her, more than she cared about him, but the love was still there.

Her thumb rubbed against her ring finger; a nervous habit she had for years, but now it glided along her new engagement ring.

She wasn’t nervous about being a bride. She’d been waiting for it for years! She planned on getting married at 25. It’s not her fault that he didn’t show up until 27.

She looked down at him snuggling against her neck.

He’d be fine right? He could be the one?

“Mmmh,” he hummed, “How was it?”

She could be happy.

She could have someone who loved her. Someone who was passionate. Someone who showed her respect. Someone who didn’t ask too many questions when her eyes wandered.

Someone who was perfect (just not for her).

She could have love. She could have a husband.

She met his eyes for the first time that night and smirked.

“Good enough.”

Knots

There’s a knot

Of anger and sadness

Seated deep in the pit of my stomach.

During the day, I bury it with food

Or try to sweat it out

Or ignore it by turning my music up too loud.

But at night, when I lay it bed, I can feel it

Twisting and growing.

I poke at it.

I think about it

And it grows more and more.

And when it’s too big for my stomach, it reaches up and grips at my heart too.

There’s a knot

Of anger and sadness

And I don’t know how to untangle it

Kai.

I reach out and brush up against her bare legs.

Kai, I call out.

She freezes and looks around, but she doesn’t look down, so I reach up and brush against her again.

Kai.

The sun bounces off my skin. She brings a hand up to shield her eyes. Her toes squeeze in the sand.

Come to me, Kai.

I pull away and watch her look around again before taking a deep breath.

She dives into my skirts. The cool silks billow and ripple away from her. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her towards me.

Why am I here? She wonders.

Hush, my child. I smooth back her hair, whisper love in her ears, and guide her away from shore.

She’s breathless. I can see her struggling to hold on.

I lift her up; breathe, Kai.

She fills her lungs up then returns to my embrace. Her eyes open wide for the first time since she dived in. I spin her around and laugh at the wonder behind her eyes.

Welcome home.

What’s in a name?

What does it mean to be worthy of a name?

I was supposed to do great things – that’s what she kept telling me.

“Nathan Nightingale. We’re saving you for something special.”

The first half of my life was spent listening to her coo over me. She would protect me from her world; keeping me out of sight, but always within her reach.

“You’ll do great things,” she told me, “I’m just not sure what yet.”

The second half of my life was spent trying to figure out what it was that I could do.

She didn’t want me to break hearts because “that’s what they all do, dear.” I was supposed to be better than that.

“You’re Nathan Nightingale. You are merely too important to break hearts.”

I was too proper to go into space. I was too pretty to go to war. I was too perfect to be just another high school anti-hero.

I lingered in the dark corner she had long since placed me in. She’d forget about me for months on end before tripping over herself screaming my name.

It always came back to my name.

“I could be a prince,” I suggested. She sat at her desk, looking in my direction but seeming to be staring right through me.

“No… a prince is expected. And besides, I’m no regal advisor.”

I didn’t have a path in life. We could never find one, and with each new failure, I would retreat back into my dark corner with my head and self-esteem lower than the time before.

“They always tell you the name is the most important part, Nathan Nightingale, but they never tell you how to plan the rest.”

She never asked what I wanted to be. She never let me tell my own story. I was always there. Always listening to what script she would lay out for me, only to rip it away again.

“This is no story for Nathan Nightingale!”

I’m not sure what I would say if she asked me what I wanted to be (another thing she wants me to say). I have never been more than just a name.

Just a boy with an amazing, grand, royal, perfect name and no way to live up to it.

 

Poem

I’ll be your poem,

If your tongue can be the pen.

Write your words across my chest

And down my neck.

Let me hear the rhymes play behind my ears

And the rhythm sway my hips.

Long lovely lines licked along my lips.

Slow sultry sentences stretched on my skin.

I’ll be your paper

Your audience

Your craft.

You be the poet

The speaker

The heart.

You’re moving gently down the page; pen

Pressed against paper so soft

Dip your pen in the ink.

Swirl it around

Find the spot.

The passion over takes you

Faster and faster.

The sounds of pen touching paper create the music you get lost in.

Almost there.

One more line.

All of this

Is mine.