Today

i smile

what a lovely day

for once no fuss

no mess

no crazy silly wackiness 

i'm living like a human 

and running like a clock 

i can't seem to stop even for a minute

time to take a moment 

and accept my stupid little self 

mistakes and breaks are what we do

and nothing's going to change that

time to let loose 

and sing a song or two

chemistry isn't just stoichiometry after all

and life was made for living

Us

in the glow of the city lights 
i'll stroll along in wonder 
i revel in the magic of the eyes of the others
everywhere they're walking 
whistling
singing
praying
dancing 
crying
and i'm here with them
we're the ocean full 
and together we crash and call 
with the melody of the moon 
just going where we're told 

Under the Elm Tree

  "What's wrong?" Emily asked, sitting down on the bench next to her friend. The evening sun was setting low against the mountains and the sky was streaked with a copper-gold hue. Suzanne was wreathed in the shadow from the elm tree that flowered over the sidewalk, her features fittingly shadowed as well. She was etched in a feverish despair that seemed to consume her.

  "Everything." She replied, blue eyes welling full with tears. Valiantly, she blinked them back out of existence. Emily bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She and Suzanne were not good friends, but they had known each other for years in the, "How are you?" "Oh fine, and you?" sort of way. Uncomfortable, Emily prayed silently, asking for help. She didn't know what to do. However, the unspoken words in Suzanne's eyes seemed to beg for a kind, gentle ear, so listening seemed the best place to start. Emily waited and after a moment, the other girl, who had always seemed rather shy, began to speak.

2/25/14

"And what was all that about, if I might ask?" Graham said stormily, yanking his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

"What was all what?" Wren replied, still lost in thoughts.

"That whole thing with the blonde back there, and fixing me up on a date. I don't even know her!" He frowned. dark eyes flashing fire. Wren came to a stop abruptly, looking back at him with clear eyes for the first time in hours. This made him realize that the street was empty, like a string of black ribbon stretching across the city, with no thoughts for her to pry into and no voices to muddle her own.

"That woman back at the party?" Wren said softly

"Yes. Her."

 "She was planning to kill herself tonight, as soon as she got home." After looking at him lingeringly for a moment, Wren turned and kept walking. Graham followed, slowly. He felt again that strange, unsettling tickle of awe that Wren inspired in him at moments like this. When all her flippancy and bluster dropped away and he realized the price her gift held, she suddenly frightened him.

"And the dance...helped?" He asked humbly after a few moments, his voice suddenly deep and gravely with respect.

"No, the dance was just to set you up for the date. I've never known a woman who had a date on Saturday to kill herself on Friday." Wren smiled. "Women are wonderful creatures that way. We can go from the depths of despair to the heavens of hope, all within the space of one dance. Funny isn't it?" She waved to a passing cabby and the car pulled up along them.

"Goodnight Graham." Wren said. "Sorry again, about Uvarsky."

"No, don't," He murmured. "We'll find a way to prove it all tomorrow. After all, that's my part of the job and not for you to worry about. You did good work tonight." He closed the door and raised a hand as the cab started off for the other side of the city.

2/24/14

"Wait, hold up." She stopped, listening. Graham watched her with impatience. 

 "Wren," He started, irritated by the delay. The suspect still had a hive of people swarming around him. Now was their chance. 

But Wren wasn't interested in the case for some reason. She seemed to be studying something internally, and he guessed that she was evesdropping on a dozen private conversations. Wren suddenly reached out and gripped his arm with surprising force, her bright eyes popping open. 

  "Quick, go ask her to dance," Wren instructed randomly, pointing to a tall blonde who was lingering halfway across the room. 

  "What?" Graham responded, his eyebrows soaring incredulously.

   

  "Her, over there." Wren waved her finger towards a youngish looking woman who seemed to be breathing and little else. She looked bored, tired and uncomfortable. "Go ask her to dance, Graham. It's very important." She gave him a gentle shove. Muttering under his breath, Graham grudgingly crossed the room. 

"We're here to catch a criminal, and now I'm going to the prom." He shook his head, wishing Wren would keep her garbled methods to herself and leave him out of it. 

Be sure to say, "May I have this dance?" Came a clear, bold message in his head. 

Yes, thank you, I can take it from here. Graham shot back. 

Just trying to help. 

Well, you're not.

Mee-ow. 

Oh shut up. 

He cleared his throat, smiling weakly at the blonde. 

"Care to dance?" 

She looked surprised. 

"Me? Oh, sure, why not?" She returned his smile with an even weaker one, and they danced. The song was short, fortunately and not too slow, lessening the awkwardness. Over his partner's shoulder, Graham saw Wren grinning smugly and sent a rainbow of glares back at her. 

Ask her to dinner tomorrow night. 

What?! 

Please? 

Why? 

It's important. 

You keep saying that, and yet, Uvarsky isn't in cuffs and I'm not getting a raise from Shapely. Still waiting for that, by the way. He glowered in her direction. 

Oh, just do it. I'll go find a way to get Uvarsky myself. 

Graham half opened his mouth to stop her, before realizing in the nick of time how schizophrenic he would appear shouting to a woman he hadn't been talking to the entire evening. 

"Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?" He asked. The woman seemed even more surprised, with good reason, and Graham hastily introduced himself and mentioned one of Wren's favorite Italian restaurants that she had described to him in painful detail several days earlier. "I'd like to take you. I'll meet you there at eight tomorrow." He smiled with more confidence, being anxious to be on his way as fast as possible. The woman blushed and nodded, saying how lovely it would be. He thanked her for the dance and rushed off, quite forgetting even to ask for her name. 

2/21/14

Oh no I didn't blog today. And now it's after midnight. But I did write. So I'm good. 2/21/14

2.20.14.

Sometimes the world feels too big and too small all at once, like there's too much to see, and not enough to discover. I wish there was more good to discover, but the more often I venture out into the world, the the more often I am repaid in trial and tribulation. Maybe it would be better to stay inside always, or only go out alone. Loneliness is so very consuming, but then again....

"What do you think, Harper?" Miss Green asked suddenly, snapping me out of my reverie. I blinked, recovering quickly.

"Sorry, what was the question?" 

"Don't you think that all people are basically good?" Miss Green repeated, stretching her toothpaste commercial smile to infinity and beyond. 

I replied blankly, "No. I don't." 

Miss Green looked at me as if I'd surprised her tremendously, a mode of therapy I'd grown to dislike more than most. She wasn't surprised. She'd known me for weeks. She could read me, so why ask the obvious and then look surprised when she knew exactly what I would say? 

"What do you think then?" 

"I think all people are basically idiots, just waiting to rip you off in order to look out for number one." I replied flatly, feeling cross. Miss Green tilted her glasses and rubbed a smudge of grease off of one lens before staring back at me thoughtfully. She wrote on her notepad and turned to the sloppy middle-aged mess sitting next to me. 

"How about you Harold?" 

And for the rest of the hour, I was free to day dream some more. 

Sentence

Her words came back to me like the raindrops against my back, drilling deep, and daring me to admit that I had failed.

152

I don’t write because someone’s reading. In fact, I’m almost positive that no one is. I write because somewhere inside me there’s a force that says “create.” And since I cannot sing or dance or invent, I write. I write of singers, of dancers and inventors. I write because it is an act of defiance I am compelled to be a part of. There’s that sense of proving to the world that I have a voice, in the hope that someday someone will finally glance over at a slip of paper and be moved, changed or touched by the words etched there, and that he will be made better for reading them. Then maybe the world will be made better, and, regardless of the insignificance of the change, I will have been a part of it. For now though, I write simply because I am a writer, and that’s what writers do.

Siiiiiick

I'm as sick as a sick person. Here's a poem, then I must sleep.

Light gleaming 

I close my eyes 

But I still see your face 

There's hope in my heart

After all this time

Don't let me go 

Don't let me go again

Darling you're my everything

And everything is all I have left 

2/17/14

I ran, clinging to the calling of silent woods, even though everything I had ever been taught told me I was an absolute idiot. I was running straight into a dark, empty grove, late at night, alone. 

Can you say stupid? 

The voices faded the further away I got. I could still hear Tess though, shouting for me to come back. Her thoughts were less kind than her words. 

What the heck? She’s going crazy. 

“Shut up Tess! I can’t help it if I’m going crazy!” I screamed. The other voices had mellowed to whispers now, and I could feel my pulse begin to settle. The darkness was soothing and terrifying all at once. My past told me it was scary, but the solitude was balm on a wound. I breathed deeply, fighting for control. 

“What is happening to me?” I said aloud, the sound of my voice breaking the silence. The next sound I heard nearly sent me jumping with surprise. My phone rang clear and sharp through the still night air. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi honey.” It was my mom. I gasped in relief at the sound of a familiar voice, steady and real. 

“Oh my gosh, it’s so good to hear from you!” I said earnestly. 

“I have some bad news, sweetheart.” She said, and I caught the hint of tears in her tone. Fear rising again, I was afraid to ask what was wrong. 

“Your grandma died. Dad and Uncle Geoff went up to visit Granddad this afternoon.” 

“Oh,” I breathed, surprised. “I’m so sorry. Was she sick?” 

“No, she’d been sick over Christmas remember? But that was just a cold. I think it was just her time to go.” 

You’ll see someday, Wren. 

My hands shook. 

Just her time…

Her time. 

My time. 

Your time will come sweet pea. You’ll be someone someday. 

“Mom?” I said. “Did grandma leave me anything?” 

“Yes, how did you know? Dad said there was a letter addressed to you on her nightstand. Do you know what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Not exactly.” 

“Do you want dad to open it for you?” 

“No,” I said hurriedly. “But have him send it here. On second thought, just save it for me. I’m going to come home this weekend. I think—“ I stumbled, not sure what I should say. I didn’t need everyone in my life thinking I was a lunatic, least of all my own mother. “I think it might be important, that’s all.” I finished. 

“Okay. If you’re coming home be very safe-“ 

“Yeah will do. Gotta go bye.” I said all in one breath, hanging up. She phoned me back but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I had to think, and to be alone and to remember. 

Your time will come Wren. You’re going to be somebody someday. Just wait. 

2.16.14.

"What's the best thing you can imagine?"

"Flying."

"Flying where?"

"To a place where someone loved me. What about you?"

"The best thing? Peace. Peace and knowing that I was safe."

"So in other words, you'd fly somewhere safe."

"No. I'd be afraid to fly."

"You wouldn't be if you knew it was safe."

A Genius Poem That Will Someday Make Me Famous

i feel a nighttime song
creeping up on me
like a frog with a tan
singing ABC's
this poem sounds weird
no judgement please
it's late right here
and i'm all out of ideas

2.15.14.

“You’d do that for me? Wait, why? Why would you do that for me?” She demanded, confusedly.

“Because,” He started.

“No I know why, but why? Like, why do you care about me?”

His brows puckered. “Why do I care about you? You’re my friend.”

“But why am I your friend?” Sam went on insistently. “You don’t like me, so why?”

“Why would you think I don’t like you?” Bernie asked.  

“Because yesterday, you told me that you hated me.”

He shrugged. “That was yesterday.”