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into the closet it went

Just what is this damn thing, I feel it I see it, in moments it is gone and I pursue it. Self-loathing, for my self-dobut, I do not know whether it is there or whether my imagination has again gotten the better of me. Am I so odd? Am I so eccentric? I feel it taunts me and for being so self centered. Yet I cannot bring my mind away from it... What is it, why does it taunt me, why is it here, is it real...

I watched the shadow, honestly I call it such for no reason other than I have no other thing to call it, I watched the shadow disappear first 'round the corner then straight into the closet. Childish fears told me to leave the closet monster be, for if it is not after me why should I pursue that which strikes fear into the hearts of children and otherwise unwary adults alike. But still I was curious. Could it be that which so many say does not exist?
I followed it whenever I saw it and today I saw it trap itself in what was probably it's comforting darkness. Closets, they say are the portal into the realm of fears, from this one came creaks and thumps and unnatural sounds which in the dead of night seemed to be a person or thing lying in wait.
The handle seemed to beckon me; it glinted and shimmered its hypnotic glow. Calling me across the room from the warmth and dead of sleepless night.
I followed it. I grabbed it, and for a moment I felt cold sharp pain. I knew what lay beyond that knob would see me end. But I had to follow the shadow beast. I had to know its secrets.

July (7), Third (3), 2006

Love, You truly are amazing. I fear the day I have to own up to it all like this. I still cry about it silently, privately, painfully - constantly. I miss you. More so I miss him. I was so happy to see you two together, never can stop thinking about it, because of how happy he was to be with you. Honestly it made me jealous but happy. I was just so happy to see him happy. I only wish I could have made him as happy as you did... do. I Love you and I wish he were still around so I could hug you both and baby-sit. Hit my blog sometime, I talk about him a lot, in my own perverse little way... you know.
http://shollenderwrite.blogspot.com/

Eyeing me...

He had such big beautiful eyes and I swore they analyzed my soul. My every thought and emotion, my movements were his own. He took my hand and kissed it and I for a moment lost track of time, who I was, where I was. He was my world, my pleasure, he is my pain, and I'd only just met him. As we stepped off the staircase the floor crept into its corner, shy of our feet we stood instead on each other's own attentions. He stared at my hands at my sides, counted my careful breathing and I lifted my weapon. He could see my every movement coming. All I could do was wait for him to stop me. He did. I swung, first gentle, Swung short, then wide, he met me in my slow ballet of emulsified fury. I smelled the grass a moment and realized it was spring. Sharp pains on the backs of my knees... Distraction and I was nose to nose with the dandelions. He had a talent for that, getting me on the ground, though if I'd had it my way I'd have been on my back. I longed for his touch, instead I felt the sharp and jeering painful thwack of his every attack. I rolled and heard him hit ground instead of flesh. His moment of distraction comes when he thinks he's winning. His flaw was always relaxing at the thought of "succeeding". I curled and kicked him; landed square in the stomach and he curled. I'm no fighter, more of a flier given the chance. I smiled at him falling back. Those big eyes I loved, full of tears. Sprinting, I was on my feet and headed for the door... and he saw me. Bolting for the door, we both paced each other in our sprints. Brakes... Brakes...!
I stopped short and instead made for the gravel pit. It wasn't where he thought I'd run, so I had a few seconds on him... time to think... It was a mistake. As soon as I got to the gravel he hit me with a running tackle that laid me horizontal mid-air and I skinned my knee while shredding my skirt. I looked over my shoulder at him. Blood was on my bare shin, everywhere he’d touched. It wasn't my blood. He'd somehow taken a serious hit from me. I smiled at him wincing and as he grabbed my arms I fell limp to his sharp pulling. I never could move in his grasp. Whether weakness in comparison to his strength or that schoolgirl weakness that gets every young heart... I suppose one can guess. I looked in his fiery eyes and smiled.

Pain Sustinence

I really miss you. The Pain is aweful. I'm sorry I can't be there for anyone, I just can't help others while I'm still trying to deal with my own. You are strong, you can breath when you think abbout it. I'm still ignoring it. And the pain of being without cuts so much deeper. The guilt is worse with every passing day. It's the agonizing, stiffeling and soffocating guilt. I can't breathe, I can't stop shaking and my whole world spins in a fuzzy haze. Change merges in front of me with time and I cannot focus on something as simple as my hand in front of my face. There is a throb in my temples and a stap from my gut to my throat slicing my breathing to shorter more severe gasps. and I blame myself. I let time pass. I let it go and now I cannot grab a second of my own time. Guilty. I Cannot give back to him the time I foolishly wasted not telling him how I cared. I cannot unwaste those nights, these night. I cannot stop crying, gasping, sniveling beaten and worthless. I cannot breathe. and when I wake up in the morning I will not be able to remember having passed out. A new pain, renewed fervor, confusion and burning guilt. Yes I have no sensation, not emotion. It's hard enough opening the fridge, I can't even see my hand in front of my face. The pain is too distracting. The guilt. And the pain.
...
I live like this.

He was lost

He was a lost soul without a home. I saw him sitting there in the puddle soaked with tears and drenched in life's unfortunate sorrows. Why he was there, how he'd gotten to the point he did I could only speculate? I looked down to him in the moment that I saw him, and felt pity. I was riding by, my husband and I, our carriage on its way to the grand ball. We were not late and still we seemed in a hurry. I watched him. His image was strangely pitiful and haunting. I wondered at his yellow hair it was grayed and browned by the dust and mud of sleepless nights in the gutter. It was his home, the gutter, I could tell by the rags and the dirt he wore. He stared at me with wide and watery, familiar eyes. I watched his pitiful stature, curled and crumpled. He was a balled up mass of child, looked about five, purity and innocence and life all barely intact. I could not help but wonder at him. His mangled self-worth. I wondered where he'd come from, whose he was. My blonde hair in their proper curls the jewels about my neck I played comparison in the moment I pitied him. I even considered throwing my purse to him as we passed. I had the money to spare and it would be no loss to me. He, I knew, would charge it a miracle and would never in his life see so much gold. I held my chin high and tight as a lady of my stature should. We rolled by and the carriage wheel doused him with more mud. Clutching my purse and my permanent look of distaste; I thought briefly of my own child. I'd had him in secret four or five years ago and tossed him quickly to the peasant class. After all a lady of my stature should not have a child when her husband's been gone across the sea for over fourteen months. I hid him well and loved him dearly, but I could not have him, the scandal alone would destroy my husband and myself and leave us penniless. Staring back at the boy with the familiar eyes I wondered. My own was lost but I could adopt another...