heartbreak and cigarettes

Tag: prose

  • Counting the stars.

    Counting the stars.

    The town lit up
    as the sky turned black
    and we walked down
    the boardwalk,
    hand in hand,
    counting the stars.

    “Counting the stars.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • Wildflowers.

    Wildflowers.

    The way the wildflowers
    sway back and forth
    in the summer breeze
    reminds me of your spirit;
    stay open and free.

    “Wildflowers” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The last time.

    The last time.

    I lay in bed, gazing
    at the sky as clouds
    roll past. The sun beams
    down onto my face, and
    all I can think of is
    the last time we kissed.

    “The last time.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The perfect place.

    The perfect place.

    Isn’t it funny
    how the things
    we want, but
    don’t get
    lead us exactly
    to the perfect place?

  • One year.

    One year.

    Even though a year
    has passed, I still
    think of you and
    what we could have been.

    “One year.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • I waited

    I waited

    I waited for you
    like the sand waits for
    the ocean tide to roll back
    in on the beach. Shifting it,
    rejuvenating,
    making it new again.

    “I waited” – sugar and sandalwood

  • Chasing love.

    Chasing love.

    Chasing love is like trying
    to catch your shadow.
    The harder you run,
    the faster it runs from you.
    Stand still, effortlessly still,
    and it’s right at your fingertips.

    “Chasing love.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • Lost.

    Lost.

    Yesterday, I got lost.
    But,
    I didn’t realize it until I
    reached my destination. Somehow,
    I got to where I was going
    without a map —

    my phone died,
    I couldn’t recognize any strangers
    on the sidewalk with faces
    that looked like they knew
    where they were going either.

    But,
    I’m sure they arrived where they’d intended,
    just as I did, and
    I’m sure, like me,
    they’d had no idea
    they were even trying
    to get somewhere
    in the first place,
    or that they were even

    lost.

    “Lost.” – bem

  • Ablaze.

    Ablaze.

    That night in the deep, dark
    woods, she woke up in her tent,
    aroused by the heat.

    She unzipped and stepped outside,
    finding herself surrounded –
    Ablaze – the trees were
    like a circle of hell
    from the soil to the sky,
    nowhere for her to find solace except
    looking upward to the deep
    navy sky.

    “Run.”
    Gulping the steaming hot air,
    she sprinted through the flames —
    with open arms and palms and face still to the sky —

    she burst out the other side:

    gold stardust surrounded by midnight,
    reformed and dancing with the fireflies.
    Casting new shapes and shadows against
    the cool, damp ground.

    Contained in the blaze,
    she’d rushed through the flames and
    emerged, glittering and brand new.
    Cleansed.
    Courage numbing her as she shed her
    old skin, which crumbled and dusted in ashes
    beneath her gilded
    footsteps.

    “Ablaze.” – bem

  • The flame.

    The flame.

    The flame.

    Oxygen fans flames
    to keep them alive
    like souls in bodies.

    Breathing in –
    inhaling,
    dragging, drawing,
    sometimes panting,
    or even gasping –
    to stay alive.

    Then the inevitable
    exhale.
    The contraction of the lungs.
    Release.
    Relief.
    Then expanding once more –
    to stay alive.

    Fanning the flame of the human spirit.
    First the initial spark.
    Then brightening,
    glowing,
    flickering,
    dimming than bursting.
    Oxygen flowing in and out –
    to stay alive.