Riptide
All she could do was stand frozen at the end of the cliff, listening to the rumble of the waves crashing below her. She was the symbol of peace, it’s what her mother had conditioned her to be. And now? She wasn’t even close to the perfect daughter her mother even hoped to want. She’d never been perfect, that idea had grown inside her, taken root like a weed in a garden that didn’t even know what a weed was.
She had one choice, it was a sure choice. The world would keep spinning, no one would even remember her if she just moved maybe an inch... closer... to... the... edge...
The riptide would get to her first, pulling her down into the bliss of the ocean. Or, if she was lucky enough, the waves would recede just as her body hit the first of the many sharp rocks hiding beneath the deadly riptide.
She opened her eyes, letting the stormy breeze whip her dark brown hair into her pale blue eyes. It was a perfect day to do it, stormy and angry, just like how she felt for her mother’s reaction. The event re-played in her mind again.
“You’re serious?” Her mom had said earlier that day.
“Mom, I’ve never been more serious in my life,” She said, close to tears.
“I will not have a child who is... bi... bise... Bisexual!” Her mother had said. That was when she had ran out the door of their home among the cliffs, it had what lead her to the cliff she was on now.
She looked up at the stormy sky, feeling a raindrop fall on her cheek, then the feeling of being pulled downward.
She had been claimed by the riptide. At least it didn’t judge.
Oh How She Could Smile
She used to smile, back when you were there by her side and singing. She has a nice smile, something you once said to me, the first time we finished our gig at a bar. She was just a waitress in daisy dukes, plaid shirt tied to you could see her belly. I remeber how she smiled when you nodded and dedicated the next one to, "that gorgeous waitress who's been working hard all night."
Oh how she could smile, it could water roses and help them grow into the most beautiful flowers the planet has ever seen. Do you remember when you took her home that night? She sat in the front seat of your car, top down, as you cruised the streets shouting the lyrics over the wind.
Oh how she smiled when we went back to your place and you got out your guitar. She sat next to you as you wrote down lyrics for our newest (and first) love song, humming along with the cords you strummed.
It has been a long time since I've seen that smile, it has been even longer since you stopped humming that song everywhere you went. As much as I hated seeing her happy... with you... I hated not seeing that smile.
Oh how she frowned when she first heard you yell at her. I believe she even stomped out of the room, rushing right past me mumbling, "that idiot, he'll never learn." When she slammed the door shut, I almost thought I would never see her again... untill she came back... the next morning.
Oh how she cried when you wouldn't listen to her, speeding down the highway fifty miles over the speed limit. She cried so hard, pleading for you to slow down or stop, or at least let her out when we came to the next gas station.
Oh how she sang your song, laying next to you on the highway, stroking your face as the life drained out of it.
Oh how she sings it today, where you lay.
You inspired her.
To keep writing, to keep singing, she now performs where you once did at that bar you met at.
She just dedicated a song to you, saying, "This one goes out to the love of my life, who I met here at this bar, who has inspred me. I write only for him."
Oh how she smiled when she had finally found her closure in music.
Branches
I watch the leaves sway in the cool afternoon breeze of Summer. How can anyone love this? The only one who should be even remotely happy are the leaves. Even now, as they are allowed to hang, and I am not, the aren’t truly happy either. Only when fall comes, when the earth keeps spinning as the leaves die and fall to the ground, is when a leaf should be happy.
I’ve watched leaves fall for twelve years before deciding how beautiful the process of their death really is. From the time they unhappily bloom in spring, to their colorful and wondorus end, it is beautiful.
I watched the leaves fall for fifteen years before deciding that’s they way I’d go.
I watched the leaves fall for sixteen years before deciding to find a tall tree.
I watched the leaves sway as I climbed, up higher and higher still, before pausing halfway to look down at the spot I’d chosen. It was perfect, the tall tree sat on the edge of an even taller cliff. You could hear the mumbling of a far away stream, ready and wating for me to jump.
I watched the leaves fall, as I fell with them.