the bible didn't mention us, not even once

she poured the pills onto the counter in front of her, counting them softly with the tip of her fingers. thirteen different little candies stretched out end-to-end along the edge of the counter. she remembered one night she had clutched that place, her heart catching in her chest, with a pair of arms around her that would have done anything to save her.

she felt sick.

each pill slipped down easier than the one before. quite a cocktail for this late at night, going down with milk instead of water. he poured her glasses of milk all the time, even when she didn't ask, even when she didn't want any. he did it because she liked milk, and he did anything she wanted and anything she liked. if it would make her smile, he did it.

she swallowed hard, a sour taste in the back of her throat.

she walked to the sink and put her glass down, the white color pooling in the bottom. she thought about dinners and notes he had written her. she had noticed he was writing poetry about her, for all the world to see, but this was nothing new. for him to be writing long, sick poetry about how he could never live without her was never anything new, he had been doing that before they ever were together. in fact, it revealed more about him than she ever understood.

she threw up in the sink, the glass falling over with the force of it.

she spit and cried, "god make him stop loving me."

"i'm begging you."

a saleman for misery

it was all she could do to keep from falling to tiny parts, tinking lightly as they hit the ground like broken christmas lights. she held her hands tightly to her chest and begged god to make these things easier. she traced the bruise on her left cheek and contemplated her father. her wretched insides stewed and rotted. her face fell into her hands as water leaked between her fingers. the french girl beside her whispered, c'est la vie.

what a bitch.

monday morning

we decided we would not speak. i told him that it would be better for him. i said i wished i could let him stay in the cabin over the weekend alone, but since it didn't belong to me i needed to be there. i said we would stay in different rooms and i would cook three meals a day and other than that we would be apart. and from the time we got into the car to the time we stepped out of it when we returned, we would not speak. we had hand signals for "do you want me to leave?" and "time to eat" and of course a nod for yes, and a head shake for no. i told him silence was necessary. for him to cope. for him to get through this. at that moment, the noise stopped.

by sunday the silence was normal. our footsteps sounded like strums on a bass guitar. our breathing sounded deep and heavy without any other noise. saturday night it had rained, and it sounded like bullets. when it stopped raining, around 4, the sky cleared and we walked outside to see the stars. out there, there were more stars than sky. we hadn't even planned to walk out together, we just ended up there at the same time. when you don't talk, its like your minds sync up. it only took us 2 days to do that.

monday morning we packed up. our packing was noisy and rough. we moved the couches back to the wall, closed plastic packages of chips and pretzels. the trunk clapped closed like thunder. he sat on the couch next to me and waited for me to point at the door, and give a motion for "let's go." but i didn't. he started crying. after the whole weekend, where i expected him to think and get past it, here the greif was seeping out of him from his bones. his whole body was bursting with the force of it.

i sat down next to him and still did not speak. i motioned for "do you want me to leave?" and he shook his head. i smiled. i pulled his head to my chest and let him sit there, wetting my shirt all the way through and shaking. once i felt the tears stop, i pulled his head up to mine and he started to say something, but i put my finger to his lips to hush him. i wiped under his eyes with my thumb, and kissed under each one. i kissed the top of his head. as i went to wipe a tear from his chin he kissed me. light on the lips. he put his hand on my face and kissed again. this time i kissed back, seriously and intentionally. it was strong and loud. it seemed i could feel his sadness falling out of him, reaching to the ground and pummeling through to center of the earth. it was the loudest thing that had happened all weekend.

once we got home we got back to talking. just as we promised, when we got out of the car we started with the words. we told our friends about how wonderful the stars had looked and how we made spaghetti and watched old movies. we looked at each other as best friends always had. we let the silence of the weekend remain over our monday morning love. that's what it would remain. it was never mentioned, but i could feel that his regret and loneliness was less.

for our years of friendship, every now and then, we caught each other's eye. we felt a kiss floating between us. we felt a good thing floating between us. but it was monday morning love, it was a silent monday morning love; it was how it was born, and it was how it would die.

staircases parkbenches

2 cigarettes later he showed up, late in a joking way. i asked him if he's read it like i asked him to. he said yeah, he did and he thought it was real good. A real famous kind of good. he said he'd never read something so good in his whole god damn life. oh, i said, good in a joking way. he lit my cigarette and said no, good in a way that it made me love you. more? i asked. more, he said in little puffs of smoke. we smoked a few more and said nothing but breath. he said he had no idea my dad killed himself. he said it explained alot. i punched him in the jaw and stole his cigarettes. he was on the ground unconscious. unconscious in a joking way.

when they tell you love fades with time, tell them there's no such thing as time

there are certain instances when you always know what time it is. when you're working, when you're taking a test, and when you or someone you know is having a baby. during these events, you never need to ask anyone,"do you know what time it is?". you know.

another is when you're thinking about someone you deeply care about but who isn't with you.

these are the times when you think if meaningful things to say to them. you have to stop yourself from calling them, from quickly typing a message into your cell phone and hitting send- with no intention other than to just let them know you remembered that they exist. you wonder if they know that you exist, if they ever think about you. because you can't get them out of your head.

you look at that clock. that torturous, number-faced creature. it taunts you. ever minute that ticks by is another where you're the place you don't want to be- without them. you go over work in your head, scrawl to-do lists and make phone calls to people you've needed to call. you wish they would call. you want to call, but all too often you feel as if you care too much, as if that one call could drive them away. you smoke 3 cigarettes. a man walks in with a shirt reading "CARPE DIEM". you light a 4th. it's been less than a minute since you last looked at the clock.

there are certain instances when you never need to know what time it is.

romantic desires as inconveniences

"i don't think this is a good idea," she whispered, but his hand was already shaking above her thigh. he rumbled into the crook of ner neck, "i don't care."

it was all over.

it was nothing but hands then. hands and mouths and breath and bedsheets. she barely noticed the empty house or the rain pounding on the windows. the air lit on fire and it seemed the room was so much smaller than she remembered.

her eyes fluttered like wings and the clouds fell from the sky and skimmed the ground as humble fog. dawn creeped in the windows and her skin glowed with electricity. her head was laying on the pillow, her hands resting in front of her as if she was in prayer. she watched him. his soft hair and arms scarred with heroin. his chapped lips and soft chin. his hands were rough and his words were sharp, but she saw something raw and pliable within it all.

***

after that night she would go to the bookstore he so often haunted just for the chance to see him. every dark green car might have been him, ever time her phone rang he was calling back. she tortured herself with possibilities. she would stay for hours in the bookstore coffee shop, humming well written songs to herself and writing in her journal, hoping against all hope that the next set of headlights that shined through the window was him. how funny that you would be here. why don't we sit down and talk.

but she never cried.

she walked through the rain to her car the night before school started, picturing in her head him walking behind her and grabbing her shoulders. he would say he had been to afraid to come find her, but that he couldn't lose her. oh the wonderous feeling of having someone never want to lose you. she wanted to never be lost to anyone. but she made it to her car. she sat inside and turked the key. he was never coming back. even driving home as her hands shook on the wheel, she pictured him being in her room, lying beside her, whispering into the crook of her neck until they became just hands.

~ashes