And so he told her a story

A story of a scared little boy

A fearful man who

Jumped through fires

Laughed with the crashing of the sea

But dropped his head

And looked down at the ground

That had no answers

To the girl with short legs

And kind strong eyes

And he couldn't laugh out loud

Or jump too high

Because the defeat in his soul

Was too strong

And the addiction was too hungry to rest

His hands shook

No stillness to hold her little hands

And so she told him a story

A story of a brave little girl

A hesitant woman

Who danced in the rain

And cried with the howls of the wind

But carried too much

When the stones were heavier

And stomped when the rain puddled

Her skin so dry

She started to become dust from the pushes of the wind

Because her heart was too full

With his blood

That it bled when he bled

And the stones piled as she dropped them unexpectedly

Up high

So high that he couldn't see her short legs

So high that she couldn't see his smile

And the stones were told a story

A story of a boy, a man who could hear

A cry with the howls of the wind

But droplets of blood dampening dust

A story of a girl, a woman who could hear laughter

With the crashes of the sea

But the shaking of the hands as the fire burned out

And the stones may one day tell a story

Of a dark tower built with fear and silence

To the ashened, growing earth

Of how faith and sound brought it

Tumbling ever after

The sun disappears over the horizon and all is left of my senses is scent. I wanted to see this place burn with him in it, trying to save himself and his life's work. Too Obvious. I might go down, but damn this lawn chair is quite comfy as I check off this last goal on my bucket list. Yolo, am I right?

The crickets help with the soundtrack to this Romance story. Drowns out the pleading. He lived a good life. I helped my therapist pay for her three story colonial and Lexus. Let Mother Earth be his keeper.

There's spit dripping down my driver's side window. I went to open my door, ready to leave my late shift, and found my hand covered slime.

"What the hell?"

I barely peek at my door handle, afraid what I'll find. Phlegm, loogie, drool. Everywhere. Like who has that much to cough up?

And sitting on my windshield, is a bouquet of flowers. Spit and daisies. Just when I didn't think my ex-boyfriend could show me how much of sociopath he really is, he horrifyingly surprises me. Last week I woke up to him standing over me telling me beautiful I looked sleeping. Enough with silence and hoping things will just get better. Being nice and naïve isn't working.

My face is warm and comforted by the growing flames. Or maybe what's really comforting, is my ex's shock and fear that's all over his face.

"You're fucking crazy!"" he screams, trying to put out the burning bouquet that's very close to setting his car ablaze. At least I didn't uses gasoline. I mean, if you're going to try to make point of how deep and dark your love goes, at least buy something nicer than a few strands of pretty straw the gas station. That shit is like kindling. Sirens start echoing closer to us.

"Use your spit," I yell.

"What the hell, Anne?" Panic dripping from his voice.

"Please," I say clear, despite smoke sneaking into lungs.

"Don't send me flowers."