To all my dear Prosers: It is a joy to read and be read by you. Finding a home here has been such a blessing. Thank you for sharing you with me through your writing. It is a gift I cherish - as I do the gift of time you give when you read something I post.

"Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day." Alice Morse Earle

May you find a moment of joy each day...I often find mine right here on Prose. <3

The fear driven by the thought of post-existential life often diverts ones focus onto stressors that we cannot control. When a life exits this plane of existence, we are given choice of reaction and action. Do we accept our material selves have an expiration date? Do we mourn in rememberance of their life? Do we visit the organic mass that lays in a box? We say we accept the inevitable, yet, we trade an hour with the polished oak for nothing of importance. For example; if your late grandfather taught you how to swing a golf club; can his physical self still teach you how to swing? If you go out onto the green alone and swing with a memory; have you taught yourself, or did learn together? Memories are constantly made after ones passing and tears are meant to be in celebration. To accept the duality of this cycle is the equivalent of achieving your ultimate goal.

Walls were meant for privacy

To separate my space

And now they only confine me

False safety in a lonely race

I see the same neighbors

the covering of their face

condemns me to my thoughts

hoping for their embrace

Degree by degree

separation keeps pace

loneliness defines me

my saving grace

A lone ant

crawled into his hair and went across

his forehead to

his eyelid

He woke up

Sand all about him and wood above

But this was so far

from hell

Hell was a thing of the past now

Now he had her by

his side

She was still sleeping

in her rugged sleeping bag

For the past few days

they slept under the cabin

to avoid being ambushed inside

He knew she wouldn’t be by his

side

for long. The infection in her

mouth was really getting out of control

putting her one outrageous fever

away from death

This was the world today

A warm wasteland full of predators

and no medical help of

any kind. Kill or be killed. Law of

the jungle. And so on

He liked to believe he

adapted

Too many didn’t

His luck stood in not having that much of

a fine life before the disaster

In fact

life was actually better now

in some aspects

For one

he had a cute companion by his side

A man really doesn't need

much to cling to life

She awakened a few minutes later

from another one of her fever dreams

All sweaty

Breathing heavy

Reaching out for his hand

“Do I smell?” she asked

“What?”

“I said, do I smell?”

“Well, yeah, we both do. Just look at…

where we are. How we are. But hey,

one thing you can be sure of, I

really, really don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“Good. Then hold me.”

He moved closer and circled her with his

arms. Buried his head in

her hair. “We can go inside. No one

came tonight either. It’s safe.”

“No,” she said. “Hold me for a bit longer.

This night… I had the worst of

them. Worst nightmare. A boat came

here on the beach. With saviors. They weren’t

even pirates. But actually good people.

They rescued us.

And among them… there was another woman.

A healthy, pretty one.

And the two of you fell in love. And I

lost you. And I killed myself. Threw

myself over the board. And drowned. My lungs

were burning.”

“Wow,” he said. “What a silly dream.”

“It felt so real.”

“You think I’d leave you for another woman

just because she’s healthy and pretty? After

all we’ve gone through?”

“Look,” she said, “my husband left me for

another woman

even before my gums and tongue started to

swell and rot. When I was still

healthy and… somewhat pretty.”

“Well… I’m not your husband.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I… shouldn’t have brought him

into the discussion. And you’re right. You

are… the most… You’re all I’m still

alive for, really. And I know

I won’t be alive for long.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he said

“It’s true. That’s why… I want you to know

that these past days…

I’ve been praying. For God not to send

us any rescuers. I prayed not to be

found by any other humans. I hate all other

humans besides you. I know it’s incredibly

selfish of me but… We’ve enough

provisions here to

survive… You know, in my case, for the rest

of my life. It’s all a matter of

days, really. I want these last days to be

spent with you alone.”

They made love there in the

dirty sand

and he didn’t mind covering that rotting

mouth with his

By the time she died

her belly

was quite swollen

And he made his peace

with the fact that he’ll never get

over it

***

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There is a pillow between us.

A sounding resonate of anything but lust.

We may twist and turn,

Throughout the night.

Making sure,

Our bodies are ready for flight.

Toss these heavy pillows away,

Only the coldness seem to stay.

Darkness of the impending sleep,

Restless words... they're haunting me.

And when the sun may soon to rise,

Against, another sleepless time.

Loneliness is here to stay.

The light doesn't keep this darkness away.

Loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark

It makes me think of you and when I had your heart

Together we lay here in the silence of the dark

My longing for you is forever but a spark

Loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark.

Loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark

The warmth of the bed does not help my frozen heart

My words are empty and the meanings are all stuck in my heart

I wish I could tell you my thoughts here in the dark

Loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark.

The bashful writer is always convinced that outside the stall lies a long queue of peevish strangers impatiently awaiting an apologetic splash.

Delete the post. Delete my brain.

Delete it all! I’m foul; insane.

But wait! Not that! I don’t have time

To sit here straining out a rhyme

Just to have it go back in.

It feels so wrong; it must be sin.

Out of me! Out, out I say!

Let all who read cringe in dismay.

It starts with a quiver up your spine. Slowly, moving up your legs to your hips and then to your belly. Your stomach starts making its best gymnastic moves. It hasn't reached your heart yet, but you clench your chest in preparation.

The walls seem to be slowly shimmering, a gentle movement like one of those inflatable characters outside of a cheesy business. The lights keep tilting and though there is no sound to be heard from them, the unseen wind dings them back and forth.

Your hands are not your own now, you are trying to steady yourself. Grasping ahold of a chair as it wobbles like a new baby deer,

The bile fills your stomach and now your chest starts to awake. That cold hard fist pressing around it. The fear as the wall begin to slowly cave.

There is panic and there is fear in their eyes. Their ghastly looks come as no surprise. You tremble without any control. You slam your eyes closed begging for any type of hope.

Sucking in your breath to feel a cool relief of warmth in your lungs. The teacup shaking so unsteadily. The noises grow and the rumble is deafening. You push your head between your unsteady legs. Remembering, everything you've learned and what they said.

Focus. Focus. Focus. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

And then a gentle touch brings the world to a stop. You catch you breath and see that the world as is as it was. You sit up straight and smile unconvincingly. You take a sit of an unmoved tea.

The earthquake is over. You can finally breathe. Until the next time, the world comes caving in.

"I know you feel like a rudderless ship," Melanie stood with her arm around her twin.

"Fucking more like a car without a steering wheel. I need a GPS for life, I can't believe she's gone." Mark's shoulders shook briefly before he controlled his tears.

"Are you going to keep yourself buried in here?" Melanie asked.

The room they were standing in was scented with Cachet perfume, the king-sized bed rumpled with wrinkled sheets wrapped around pillows scattered from the headboard down to the elegantly curved footboard. One lonely Tiffany lamp glowed on his beside table, showering jewel toned pools of soft light on pale beige walls and lacy white curtains.

Mark looked at her with red swollen eyes, his hair greasy with tufts sticking up every which way.

"I'm not ready to face anyone. At least I can pretend she's going to walk through the door here. I can smell her like she just got out of bed. I can't let her go, Melly."

"Come on Mark. You've got to start somewhere. Come down with me, I'll make you some tea and you can have some toast. She wouldn't want you to hole up and quit living."

"Rudderless ship here, remember."

Mark wrapped his arm around her like she was the anchor holding him steady.

"That's okay. No one expects you to do more than survive. One minute at a time."

"Will you wind me up? Like the grandfather clock? Time stopped when she died."

Mark shuffled out the bedroom door, like he was an eighty year old man, his back bowed under an unbearable burden.

"I've got chicken soup, and we'll wind up the clock with memories, I promise. We'll never forget her."

Melanie grabbed the sweater her sister in law had knitted in the last week of her life, and draped it around her brother.

"I can smell her, why won't she just walk through the door?" Mark pulled one of the sleeves up to his nose breathing deeply and smiling.

"Let's remember her. I'll tell you about my favorite things about her, while you eat your soup." She settled him in the padded kitchen chair and went to the stove to ladle broth and noodles into a bowl.

"Tell me a story. Tell me about Annaliese, don't let me forget."

Melanie let her tears escape as she watched him eat. Silent witnesses to the depth of her own grief. At least her twin, her best friend and brother was eating again. She drew a shaky breath and began.

"How about your wedding day? She wore Cachet perfume."

Charity stares at me as I take my lunch out of my cheddar cheese colored bag. My best friend seems speechless as the scent of mozzarella, pepper jack, potato bread and tomatoes waft around us. Irritation flashes in her eyes as she says, "Girl, you are Obsessed with

cheese. And I mean obsessed with a capital O."

I shrug, "I would say that I like cheese, but I'm not obsessed with it."

"You eat cheese everyday."

"That doesn't mean its an obsession."

I free my grilled cheese sandwich from its foil, and lift it to my nose. I close my eyes as I inhale the delicious flavors of the cheeses melding together. I let out a happy sigh as a giant smile takes over my face.

Charity shakes her head and stabs her salad with ferocity. "You are definitely obsessed." She mutters under her breath.

I open my eyes. My world shrinks to just me and my sandwich. Nothing else exists. I take a huge bite, and my eyes water as the flavors I've been dreaming about hit my tongue.

"Claudia, are you for real? You're crying over a cheese sandwich." Charity says with disbelief, her eyes wide.

No time for her antics. It is me and the cheese.

I slowly chew, and my world explodes with salty, fatty goodness, punctuated with the crispy fluffiness of potato bread, and refined by the acidity of the tomatoes.

This is what I call heaven. Cheesy heaven.

Charity lets out a long frustrated sigh. "And you say you're not obsessed."