i die every night when i close my eyes

She held me close, hugging me tighter than I was expecting. My breath exploded out in an ecstatic sigh.





It was two years since I last saw her.

Me: I was a 20-something drifter. I'd held multiple jobs and places of residing since being with her.

Her: She was the beautiful, talented girl of my dreams - that I let slip away.

It was two years since I last saw her.



She called me up, out of the blue, and asked to go to lunch. I, still being in love with her, even after all that time, accepted immediately. She sounded hesitant and nervous - which tore into my heart ever further.

I offered a place we could meet - a somewhat expensive restaurant in the richest neighborhood around (also very close to the slum I was living in - just in case things progressed to that point). She countered with a hole-in-the-wall place near her - and her parents' - home. This was more in line with what we both would frequent anyway -- and who was I to say no to her? -- and ended up being our destination.

We met in the parking lot of this Dim Sum spot. I was, as I usually am, disheveled and unshaven. I wore my pea-coat - the fanciest thing I owned, other than my suit-coat which was reserved for funerals and job interviews.

She wore a flowing summer dress that was simultaneously sexy and reserved - a magic trick she pulled off flawlessly.

We exchanged awkward and quick hello's, and headed into the restaurant.

I watched her walk slightly ahead of me, with a confidence I remembered from our past. We reached the door and I did the gentlemanly thing - the thing she taught me to do so long ago - and made sure I held the door open for her.

She smiled - that beautiful, pure smile I would remember always - and thanked me as she walked past. I caught of a whiff of her perfume - the slight scent of gardenias, her favorite flower, nearly knocked me into the netherworld. I caught my balance - and regained my senses - and followed her into the darkened restaurant.

The maitre d' seated us quickly. The restaurant was beautiful and packed. Most tables held Asian business-men, speaking quickly and in hushed tones. At one table sat a family of 4. The parents ate in silence while their teenage daughter tended to their adolescent son - who insisted his straw was created for the sole purpose of blowing milk bubbles and that his chop sticks were, in fact, very thin drumsticks.

Our table sat in the middle of the room. I pulled her chair out for her, and she smiled sheepishly. My heart leaped at the reaction, as I pulled off my coat and draped it over the back of my chair - an action she used to find both uncouth and endearing.

I looked at her from across the table, and we both showed hints of a smile - though neither would fully commit.

The waiter arrived immediately and poured our tea and a glass of water. Without a word he disappeared into the darkness of the kitchen.

A tiny Chinese girl, no older than 16, in a silk dress, pushed a cart to our table. Wordlessly, as if she'd done this a million times (which, really, she may have), my love pointed at seemingly random dishes on the cart - then told me to pick what I liked. I had no idea - my heart was in my throat, so asking was out of the question, and I randomly pointed at two dishes. Both looked at me, bemused, before the cart girl put our food on the table and left.

The waiter and cart pusher and maitre d' gone, we looked at each other from across the table. A lock of her shining black hair fell onto her forehead. Instinctively I brushed it aside for her. Halfway through the motion we both realized what was happening, and smiled at each other.

I can swear I saw a tear starting to form in her eye.

We ate our food in silence at first, before she began to speak - her mouth still chewing noodles, mine full of - well, I wasn't sure what at the time.

We exchanged pleasantries - "Oh, it's nice to see you again." "How've you been?" "Food is good." - so on and so forth.

"I've missed you," she said, breaking into the heart of our hearts.

"This food is amazing!" I said, my own heart breaking as I did so.

She smiled patiently, sniffing out my defenses immediately.

We ate in silence for a bit.

"I'm impressed." She said.

I smiled sheepishly, not sure what she was referring to - but feeling that swelling of pride anyway.

"I never thought you'd order pig brains - and then actually eat them!" She continued.

I tried not to vomit as I chugged a tiny glass of boiling hot green tea.

She smiled.

"I've changed a lot since we last talked," she said, sheepishly. "I've... I've found God. I go to church twice a week now. My parents are moving away soon. I started volunteering at the hospital again. I know what I want to do now. I'm involved with the deaf community - I go to Starbucks every Thursday for a deaf students meeting. I still have our rabbit. I've changed a lot, really. I got a new car - you saw it outside. I'm a lot more mature now."

I nodded and added non-committal grunts between each sentence.

I loved her - I always had.

When we were together - or, more likely the case, immediately after our relationship ended - I made her a promise. I told her that, no matter what was happening in my life, no matter who I was in a relationship with, I would always come running back to her - because she was, and would always be, the love of my life.

I broke that promise.


She told me all about her new life - the life of someone pure of heart, trying to either fix the world or make amends for mistakes of the past. Or both.

I nodded and added non-committal grunts between each sentence.

While she spoke I thought of a girl I'd recently met - a girl the exact opposite of the one sitting across from me.

This new girl bled spontaneity and passion and danger. And I was enthralled. And my heart was - as it often is - confused.

I sat apart from my past love and could not differentiate the feelings I had for her from the ones from the newer beauty. I closed my eyes and thought to myself: The girl here, now, broke my heart. The one I've just met hasn't -- that has to mean something!!

We ate our food in relative silence -- we each would offer tidbits about our new lives -- she telling me of her loving exquisite endeavors; me telling of the doldrums that constructed my life. It was, all told, pleasant enough - and I surely enjoyed the pleasure of such a beautiful young woman at lunch. The entirety of the restaurant noticed her warmth, and basked in it.

The waiter came with our bill - a sizable sum - and I immediately picked it up. Though I may be a lout, I am not without my flashes of chivalry.

She protested - but I insisted.

"You shouldn't pay for me," she said sweetly.

"I have to - consider it an early -- or late, for the ones I've missed - birthday present!"

She smiled - a smile that could end all wars. A smile that could melt the coldest heart.

"You're so sweet," she said. "OK - just this once. But next time, I'm buying!"

I couldn't help but smile at the idea of a next time.

Her 24th birthday was mere days away - and a small party was already planned.

"Hey - I'm having a birthday party at my friend's house soon -- I sent you an e-vite, but it's OK if you can't come. You won't know anyone there, except me, and I know how you hated stuff like that..." she let her sentence drift into the void between us.

"I really wish I could go," I said, meaning every word, "but I have to work that day - and there's no way I can get it off."

"That's alright," she said, with the slightest hint of disappointment. Then, brightening, "Maybe we can have lunch next weekend!"

I smiled and nodded.

"Sure - that'd be nice."

I paid the bill - despite her continuing protests - and we got up to leave. I put on my coat - stinking of cigarettes and beer - and walked her out the door and to her car.

We paused for a second, outside her car, as we looked each other in the eye. We both smiled as she reached for the handle, then paused.

She turned to me, and said "I'm going to give you a hug."

She did.

The hug was more than friendly, and lingered. She first rested her head on my shoulder and I relished the feeling of her warmth against me. I smelled the sweetness of her soap and shampoo - she never wore perfume, didn't need it - so close it enveloped me. I felt her arms around me, my arms around hers - a perfect union.

She pulled away ever so slightly, and whispered in my ear, "I've missed you," before giving me a peck on the cheek - and placed her head on my shoulder again.

What I wanted to say was "I love you." Or "I've missed you to." Or anything of any substance.

Instead I told her "It was nice seeing you again," as I broke our embrace.

My heart and head was swimming.

I didn't know what to feel about this meeting, about the new girl I'd fallen for, about myself. I loved them all - both girls and my new-found sense of identity.

I kissed her on the cheek, said we'd be in touch, and walked away.



It was two years since I had last seen her.



Two days after our lunch, she sent me a message saying she enjoyed seeing me again - and hoped to see me again soon.

I didn't reply.

When we were closer I promised I would always go running back to her.

One week after our lunch, she left me a voicemail saying she really wanted to talk to me - and that she missed me still.

I didn't reply.

I was beginning to fall in love with a new girl - and was never the type to stray, even from imaginary love.

When we were together - and when we parted - I promised her my heart would always be only hers.

Two weeks after our lunch she was gone forever, passed into the grey beyond.

I broke my promise to her.



















and I will never forgive myself.

i used to remember you smiling and waving. I don't think I can anymore.

it's way too early in the morning
or is it too late?
i could never get the names or facts or faces straight
let's turn on the radio
and sing along to a song we both hate

is there something wrong with the picture?
it's hard to focus on
feels like it's fleeting, something's gone
the color is fading
i look into your eyes, you stifle a yawn

we watch the sunrise, such a horrid site
black turning golden
i guess this is a place we've both been
i whisper i love you
you say you're glad that we're friends

wemustlearntoreawakenandkeepourselvesawake

the girl in the red top
waved goodbye to no one at all
she's going places you've never seen
lived a life you wouldn't believe
did things she'll one day regret
did things she'll never forget

her father, a drunk and famous man
her father, the king of the crop
her father, the man who wouldn't stop
the father of the girl in the red top

tears in her eyes, she ducked for cover
shaking and screaming and saying
"this is the only
this is the only thing left"
all around her daylight was graying

one day she'd had enough
puffed her chest out, tried to look proud
closed her eyes and pretended she was tough,
her heart beat growing loud

with all her possessions lying on the ground
the girl in the red top
her pale white skin blinding against the black sky
the girl in the red top
the girl in the red top
let a single tear fall from her glorious eyes
the girl in the red top
did not make a sound

oh, with a murderous glee
she simply refused to flee
"what will become of me?"
she asked, but could not see
"such is the fate of the bourgeoisie"
the crowd said, the crowd said


the flashing lights blinded the block
masses of strangers staring at
the girl in the red top

The World Breaks Everyone - and Afterward Many are Stronger at the Broken Places.

He stopped his run-down car halfway between the mile markers, one last inside joke.

Stepping out of the car, feeling the rust on the door scratch lovingly against his fingers, he breathed in the hot desert air. The keys shone, still hanging in the ignition, as he shut the door gently, relishing the hard metallic sound of it closing, for the last time by his hands.

A single cactus stood at the horizon, it's arms waving at him, beckoning him onward. And so he walked.

The dust stirred, danced, and died with his every footstep. A sweat broke out on the nape of his neck, beads of moisture appearing and dissipating in the hot dry air. Somewhere nearby the rattle of a predator whispered its poetic song, only to be ignored and left behind.

Wearing the same suit he had been in for days, he took off his glasses and set them upon an ancient rock - a stone monolith that had stood guard, fending off the nothingness for centuries.

Cold in the summer heat, he walked onwards with no one to watch his travels. Many thoughts, visions, passed before his eyes.

The shape of her face, the nose she always thought was too big, but he found beautiful, her hair, dangling precariously in front of her eyes. Standing on the pier, silhouetted by the rising sun.

Her hand in his, cold and nervous with anticipation.

The sweat on her brow, the screams of pain and purest joy.

The quiet happiness he thought they shared. An old house down a dusty road, in a town no one anywhere else had heard of.

The closing door, and the silence - that epic silence that filled eternity.

He blinked away the tears - and the memories he didn't want with him any longer.

The cactus waved, ever so slightly closer.

Miles away a car roared to life, in a city filled with bustle. Somewhere in that city, a woman was just waking, still tired from her night-shift at the diner. Her sleep and life arrested by the arrival of a joyous bundle.

He could hear them, even now. In the rustle of the morning wind, hot and mournful. He could smell the sugary sweetness of her perfume, lilac and gardenias. It carried with it her whispers, of nevers and forevers. The incandescent light was blinding.

The wind kicked up, swirls of dust and debris. In a dust devil he thought he saw a thief, mocking and beckoning.

A plastic bag flittered by, bringing reality back into focus. His car, bought at a used car lot, stood as a dot behind him. The cactus ahead seemed infinitely far away. The last of his money had been spent - there was nothing left to leave, a thought that filled him with remorse.

She would just be starting her day now, he knew. First a breakfast - something simple, eggs and toast, would be prepared. Then a lunch packed, for a child that would never know his name. Then a trip to a public school, filled with minor miracles and tragedies, none of which he would be there for. Then some uneasy sleep, before waking for a day of drudgery. Then cat-calls and nondescript abuse, before returning to uneasy sleep - after preparing a frozen dinner and, if time permitted, a story written in a nondescript notebook. And the whole thing would repeat itself, except for the occasional exception.

He walked into the desert, his suit-coat soaking dust and sweat. Tears dried before they left the eyes - better that way. They were undeserved.

The cactus, just a marker, stood on the horizon still, seemingly no closer than it had been hours ago. The glint of steel from his automobile was as distant as the north star, and as unattainable.

In the abyss, in the middle of nowhere, his thoughts turned towards life.

A child in his mother's arms, a teenager standing on a street-corner, holding the love of his life in his hands, kissing her tenderly. A man, leaving a one-room apartment, going to work, only wanting to get back in time to hold her in his arms before she leaves for her night. A married man, coming home, briefcase in hand, all thoughts of outside responsibilities evaporating at the sight of her. An old man, in his rocking chair, her empty chair beside him, her things left untouched...

The sun shone brightly, blindingly. Jealousy, sadness, longing, grief - all fell aside. The sun cleansed all.

He walked onward, a calm peace descending, even has his knees grew weak, and the day descended into blackness.

In the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood,

The prince laid in his ornate bed, a quiet sigh escaping his parched lips.

On the overly ornate nightstand his drink sat, untouched. The pearls of condensation caught glimpses of light before sliding away into obscurity.

A cigarette lay limp in his mouth, flowing streams of beautiful smoke to the rafters. The ash clung to it, defying gravity and his ever steady death-march, clinging to the moment.

The old clock in the hallway, given to him by his grandfather - a great king of men - chimed the arrival of 5am, and the on-coming dawn.

From her room down the hall, where she only recently had taken to sleeping away the cold nights, Anette played the violin. The tender, heartless notes danced through the halls of their mansion.

Slowly, with shaking a shaking hand, he through the cigarette into a dark corner of his room. This entire place could burn down, he thought to himself, and not a person would notice.

The music stopped.

His sweat-soaked hair fell around Alain, alone in his bed made for a king. Scattered around the floor were old books, the binding bent and pages yellowed with age - remnants of a life not lived. He was to be a writer, once. Praises were heaped upon him, heavier than his father's crown. Unfinished manuscripts haunted his study. On the wall of his bedroom chamber hung a beautiful portrait - Anette, standing beneath the falling cherry blossoms of his family's estate. He painted it himself, a lifetime ago.

Through his window the first light of dawn crept in, shining its brilliance upon the despondence within.

He didn't love her, he realized. He realized that he realized this far too late. He didn't love her, and maybe never did.

Anette was beautiful - even more beautiful than when they first met. Her eyes carried every beautiful shade, the crystal blue of the ocean he took her to when they were still courting. The green of the forest that surrounded their mansion. The brown of the earth from which their love once sprang. And, whenever they spoke of love, the red from her eyes breaking into tears.

She was always graceful. When they first met she was a dancer. She never gained fame or fortune from her profession, the two things she valued above all else, but she glided with every movement, a song more beautiful than any symphony ever composed.

He never loved her, he thought. He loved who he painted, who he wrote of - most often in words too toothsome to be adored by the literary world. Anette was beautiful, but nothing else. She did not read, nor listen to anything he would consider as music. She did not enjoy the cinema, except for the insipid movies he disdained. She was everything he was not.

He did not love her, he realized too late. He did not come to this conclusion until after he had been with her for years, stealing away her best years, after he beauty had begun to fade, after her grace had started to decline -- after her love for him, if it ever truly existed at all, and dried up and died.

He did not love her, he realized, until he had fallen in love with her, far too late.

The cold dawn crept in through his window, lighting the falling cherry blossoms, dancing in the invisible breeze.

Alain closed his eyes and slept.

i had a good thing going
but now it's gone
i guess the best things
don't last too long

One Year

The security camera caught it all,
grainy video feed and dirty images.
She screamed for help, you could see
the air moving rapidly away.
He stood motionless, in the background
caught forever in a digital wasteland.
They moved in, monsters of the night
no remorse or moral equivalent.
A gleam appeared and disappeared
the rapid succession of images
caught in 240 frames a minute.

Life looks less lifelike
in still images.

She screamed, the foggy air
capturing her voice
and secreting it away.
He froze, frozen in time
as they inched closer.
Just after closing time
minds go numb and heroes' voices
quietly go dumb.

In between the frames,
the action wasn't caught,
sadness and remorse
living a lifespan shorter than
that of a mayfly.
Some heroes never arise,
and some are struck down before their time.
Gods and monsters visible
in the milky moonlight,
indistinguishable and inseparable.

She screamed, but no one
came to the rescue.

The Literary Whore vs The Literal Whore. But Not Literally.

The pounding rain stopped
the quiet noise subsided -
just their silent voices left
to fill the void.

She kissed him
just on the cheek
always on the cheek,
painfully close
a dagger just missing its mark.

He acted like he didn't care,
as he had a million times before
taking her hand in his
and saying goodbye.

At the door, silhouetted,
the moonlight behind her,
she paused, back to his front
and whispered softly
her sad eyes beaming -

She was in love, she said,
she was in love,
words so heavy
ringing in his head

Her glowing eyes,
her watery look
passed him, falling
at the closed bedroom door

she was in love,
she said.

A sinking feeling
a numbness in the
entirety

She was in love,
she said.

A cough from behind
the closed door
she smiled

She was in love,
she said

He choked back the
words he knew
he would never say

She was in love,
she said

an I love you
instead silence
I love you
instead silence
I want you to be happy
instead silence
I don't want to have
instead silence
to see it
instead silence

She was in love,
she said

The rain started again,
a slow drum beat
she turned,
so full of grace
a hail mary and
a thousand lashes

He watched her go
reached for her
slender hand
stopping her
holding her
instead silence
kissed her on
the softest cheek
he'd ever dreamed
instead silence

A polite goodbye

she was

relishing the feeling

instead silence

in love

her hair brushing his face

instead silence

the darkness filled the doorway

she said.

He trudged down the stairs, dragging the two heavy bags of garbage, leaving a trail of filth behind him.

The cold night air sent a shiver through his spine.

He crossed the apartment complex's driveway, towards the army of overflowing dumpsters. It reeked of spoiled food and spilled liquor.

Gamine

She used to be a dancer
tender vicious fleeting
just starting to fly away.
So tired of her gilded cage
she rebelled, she yelled, she
quietly walked away.

to end is to start, to surrender is to know

............stop

Fuck everybody. Amen.

You are what you love, not what loves you.