Life is a masquerade ball. Everyone hiding their true selves, their identities. Trying to find the one who will finally let you take off your mask, and reveal your face. Often, it is difficult to trust after a betrayal. Someone you thought you could trust, but was just another blank-faced stranger. The pain will push you further back behind your mask. Building a wall to protect your injured spirit. Hoping, yearning, that you will heal someday and find true trust and hope. Until you find that special person, you hurry through life, clutching your mask, dressed up in your costumes, afraid to trust, to hope, to heal. Healing comes from pain. Trust comes from betrayal. Love comes from healing. Healing brings hope.

She’s standing there on the bridge, wondering what life has still installed for her. She has done so many bad things, that by now there shouldn’t be anything else good left for her. And yet there he was, standing next to her, looking at the sea, like he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he wasn’t standing next to a paid assassin... But he didn’t know. Maybe he suspected that her life was more cloudy, that she leads the world to believe. That her behavior left too much to wonder. That she had too many secrets behind her eyes and the words she said. Behind smiles that weren’t always real, and reaction that didn’t always seem natural. She had great disguises, but sometimes even she slipped.

Thinking of anything in particular? – He asks. Staring at her face with a wide grin. She responds with a careful smile. She's not used to people being as kind as him. No double intentions, no secrets, no...

About lies… - she says, looking at the deep waters, as if they held the answers to her questions.

He frowns for a little while and then smiles, lifting his eyebrow.

Oh, I know you’re a liar.

She freezes for a moment. Blood suddenly stopping in her veins. She turns her head slightly, so he can just about see her profile.

How did you find out…? – She asks slowly, cautiously. All the while thinking just one single thought. The words bouncing in her and leaving her bruised. “I thought I would have longer… I thought there would be more time…”

Please, you’re not as mysterious as you think… I know that you know "squat"about fixing cars… The time that we met, that was just a lucky guess… - He says and she can feel small chunks of ice falling from her heart, finally defrosting her body and mind.

He didn’t know… She still had some time… She makes herself breathe and comes closer to him, nudging him against his shoulder. Trying to seem relaxed and playful.

Hey, I still have secrets… and I know about cars, bet I could fix one faster than you…

He laughs loudly and pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. And now she can really relax. His laugh feeling her insides with warmth. The remaining chunk of ice melting away and dripping slowly down to the ground, slipping past the wooden boards and dripping into the sea.

This wasn’t the day for the real truth. About who she was… this was a day about being truthful to her feelings… about how she felt about him. The time will come when she will have to confess about her past. But not today. No. Today she was just Jane.

A girl madly in love with a boy next door,

and not an assassin running away from her past...

..............................................

Avoiding something

doesn’t always mean that you hate it.

It could also mean

that you wanted

but just know it isn’t right.

Unknown

Silence fills the caves as my senses return to reality. My eyes open slowly to the all surrounding darkness. It takes me just a fraction of a second to adjust to the situation. Yet for a moment I can’t seem to point out the root of the problem… and as I listen to the sounds more carefully I understand what it is that seems to Inconvenience me.

For a first time in a long time I am not alone.

I wake up next to her. My prisoner… Her body in deep slumber. She looks so peaceful that… my mind flinches from the thought, because it’s the strangest sensation. Because a part of me wants to watch her like this for a very long time, for no good reason, well no logical reason that is… and the other part just wants to get up and leave… this very ridiculous situation. Fraternizing with the enemy… illogical. However the word enemy seems a bit too powerful in these circumstances. And yet, the word hostage or prey doesn’t seem to apply any longer. Something has changed. In a very bad way… I no longer seem to be myself. I’ve became this grotesque version of myself.

A version that seems to consider the options, the possibilities… that ponders.

I don’t ponder. I act. I’m prone to strategize, yes… but to ponder… beyond unnecessary. I have better things to do now, things that need to be taken care of. I start to get up, my elbows already supporting my torso, and as I do this I give a side glance at the one lying beside me. I narrow my eyes again, irritated by my own hesitation. She takes a deeper breath and murmurs something silently. I let out a low grown, as my body drops back on the mattress.

The way she looks in her sleep. So defenseless… and still happy. Content. She isn’t like this when awake. No, not when with me. Can’t say that I’m surprised. Because of my presence she ends up bruised and battered… daily. One way or another, something happens to her… very unlucky creature indeed. And as I think about this an image runs through my head. My back strains at the memory. I furrow my eyebrows as the image is very unwanted.

The spear in her body… her pain… legs that suddenly hit the ground when her body gives in. That scream. As if the owner screamed out the entire pain of the world… very affecting. I feel a shiver run down my spine and change my position as if trying to avoid the uncomfortable reaction… apparently trying to turn away from it.

This causes her to stir in her dreams. Her hands tighten themselves into small fists.

A deep thrown between her eyebrows. She mumbles something, the words not very clear. And as one of her hands loses up and stretches forward… it reaches the sleeve of my arm. She mumbles more strange words and leans into me, wrapping herself around my arm. Her body curling into a tight ball.

For a short moment I think she’s doing this on purpose and my body tenses from the touch. But then I realize she’s still deep in her sleep. I breathe deep through my nose, as if trying to hold something back… or just trying not to move so she doesn’t wake up. Why I do this is a mystery to even to myself. Or perhaps I do…

Maybe, just maybe… considering the most insane option… what I’m experiencing is - I shake my head in disbelief - that could not be right… a word pops up in my head, just like a dropped coin… which makes an annoying sound as it hits the “ground”. The word sounds quite alien in my own personal dictionary.

Guilt. I’m… experiencing… guilt. Hmm, I’ve heard about that word, about that human emotion, and yet I never even in a millennium though I would be even close to getting it first-hand. Very, very inconvenient.

And why is that exactly, one might ask? I look down at the tight ball, that is my prisoner for the past couple of weeks… for dozen of days and endless amount of hours and a staggering number of seconds… I sigh quietly.

Apparently I feel guilty because I’m still in her bed, while I should be in a million other places… and not only that. I woke up next to her, which leads to a simple conclusion, that I actually felt a sleep next to her. Which hasn’t happened before… obviously I can sleep… however I don’t need to. Especially in front of my hostage… or whatever that she is right now. So much has happened. So. Much. Has. Changed.

I look down at her, as she mumbles more incoherent sounds. Something seems to worry her, a deep frown on her face. My body shows the most peculiar reaction to that. I feel unsettled by her distress. The fingers of my hand stretching out to her face, a sudden need to smooth the lines on her forehead overpowers me. I freeze for a moment, surprised by own erratic responses. Then I shake my head with annoyance. Oh, what does it matter anyway for harms sake?! She’s asleep and I don’t have to explain any of my motivations… even to myself. I’m free to do as I please.

Once more I outstretch my hand and touch her forehead gently with my fingers. And somehow the notion seems almost… pleasant. This bothers me, it’s strange, unfamiliar to me. And not only that, my touch seems to trigger something in the girl too. She quickly calms down, her face once again smooth without the worries bothering her unconscious mind. Her body relaxes too. Legs loosening up, hands no longer in tight fists. She leans closer to me, clinging against my side, her face buried in my chest. I don’t move, not sure what to do next… not sure if I should push her away, or just let her lie like this. So in the end… I don’t do anything.

I just stare at her, as she falls deeper in her slumber. The dark circles under her eyes indicating that she needs her human rest. She seems to be tired a lot lately. Once more I am the cause of that – I shake my head with growing frustration which causes my muscles to tense again. Why is this even bothering me? Why do I waste my precious time on these pointless… thoughts?

I look at her again, my stare dropping from her closed eyes to the peak of her nose… right down to her lips. And that’s where my stare stops for longer than it should. Her lips just a perfect shape… a perfect shape to kiss. I shake my head again, my eyebrows furrowed; the sudden necessity to touch her lips with mine consuming. What’s happening to me? Why am I so disoriented, so unpredictable? More than usual that is. Hmm, I kissed her before, but it was different. I was playing with her, just toying around. Nothing special really… and yet, I can’t deny that strangely it felt good.

As natural as lust can be to a sinner…

.....................................................................................................................

I figure I don't paint anything. And that it is either white and blank to symbolize my craziness and need to possibly be locked up in a straightjacket due to my "crazy love" for this guy I still love madly, my first love, at 18, who I haven't seen since 2003 during that fateful long ass ride on a filthy Greyhound bus 33 hours back to Virginia from Kansas. We both knew it was over. Our last kiss was a pitiful representation of a love story over. One of such hope, destroyed by distance and mental illness (mine).

Or it could be red. Just red. Painted over the entire thing. A bright, crimson, blood red. Red for love, or red for blood. Because love that intense, love that would die for the person, love that bleeds over into life 14 years later, is nothing short of mad.

I am a pathetic madwoman who may truly never, ever, ever love like that again.

But if I never love again, I consider it joy to have had my first and only love be this man. A ruggedly handsome, broody and brilliant Hispanic poet. One that would turn my life upside own in the best way.

White or red. Crazy or excessive/obsessive. That is what my love means. And as unhealthy as it is...

I wouldn't change it for the world. It is a part of my story. And I will honor it.

My heart is frozen in this place. It is shattered but will not fall apart. It cannot be broken enough to melt and evaporate. Instead, I am suspended. I am a ballerina in a display case. I am old when there are many new things in your life. I am at the back of the cabinet. I am dusty, overshadowed by cobwebs and the other figures in your life.

I still love you. That's the problem. I stay more because of you than I do for me. It would hurt me to leave, but I know I could fly higher.

Feathers protrude from my spine and back. My skin tingles and goosebumps form. My hair stands on end and fades into something terrifying. The excruciating pain of their emergence prickles all my senses. I open my mouth to scream, but only a hollow echo sounds. It serves only to deepen a hunger within that you cannot fill until you can see me. This change, this metamorphosis, blossoming, it means death within.

I know you love me. You love me, so you put me in this case. But you've forgotten me. You've forgotten that though I never meant to be here, I chose to stay for so many reasons that have everything to do with you, and little to do with me.

My wings push away from my body. With every muscle in my core and shoulders, I hold them to my body. My fingers web yet closer together. The join to form my wingtips as my heart begins to swell. I lose my grip. My wings are spreading, the other figures in this case begin to stir.

I'm afraid. It's as though I don't want to be free. To be free means to allow my heart to break. Maybe even to break yours, if you cannot come with me. I've never been the person to walk away. I would do anything for you, but I'm losing my grip. I'm losing my sight. My vision is changing, and you are beginning to blur.

Porcelain shatters and the fine glass trembles. The flutter of these new wings has upset the balance of my ever-enduring self-control. The dischord cracks every other figure in this case. You reach inside. You glue me back together. Only I don't want to be whole anymore. My sprouting feathers prick your fingers. You draw back. I didn't mean to hurt you. If I could make them stop growing, I would. If I could. So you close the case.

Thunder strikes within me and I feel a pain in my hollow chest. It is the beating of a heart that so long has been captive to a love I never believed I deserved. Now, it births a life that is both amazing and terrifying. Help me.

You can't.

You are afraid. The more you fear, the less you look my way. The glass will not hold for long. These feathers were meant to stir in the wind, these wings to spread against the colors of the sky. I want to take you with me, but you cannot see me anymore. You see the feathers and the distance of the horizon. You see all the ways I can be taken away. But to you, it isn't real.

This is how you lost me. I didn't want to leave...and though I'm in this case, a part of me has already flown away.