Tuesday, June 21, 2016

optimism



I was told that all lies are half-true and that the world’s greatest deceptions on the earth and in the heart all have a bit of truth laced in.

It was a warm August day when he said he loved me. He said he didn’t know how, why, or even when but I’d somehow struck his heart like a chord or a comet and for that, he was irrevocably mine.

I jumped right in. We fell too hard. In the morning, he was gone.

Optimists pride themselves in seeing the glass half-full. I pride myself in seeing your love half-true.

This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.

Photo: cabin
♫: Joni Mitchell | A Case of You (1971)

Monday, January 4, 2016

tokyo love



He shows me pictures on his phone – busy lights, views from the Shinkansen, a million strangers crossing Shibuya all trying to get somewhere.

It looks like you had fun, I say.

Yeah, but it was lonely. There’s something about Tokyo. You get these automatic faucets and dispensers, doors all opening by sensors. There’s no touching, no intimacy. It’s fucking depressing.

I nod but don’t say anything. How can I? He’s not mine. But my love for him is automatic. If he only knew how I dropped everything today just to see him. And all he had to do was ask.

This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.

♫: Barenaked Ladies | Call and Answer (1998)

Thursday, October 22, 2015

wish you would



These morning cigarettes lend so much clarity, it hurts. When only quiet fills the void, every little thing you hide comes out to play.

I know what we have is different, that his love for me is in a language that escapes words. He looks at me and sees me. He kisses me and I’m home. He holds me until the early morning. And though I often wake up without him, that doesn’t mean he loves me any less.

I know he doesn’t need to say it. But every now and then, I can’t help but wish that he would.

This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.

Photo: artolove
♫: Carole King | Will You Love Me Tomorrow? (1971)

Friday, October 9, 2015

on how I write you



The words come as it happens. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life.

Then I tell the story again. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. I choke back tears as I struggle to memorize his face, the lines around his eyes, the tiny hairs on his chin. My palms were sweaty. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want that last image of him. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I shrug. I didn’t know where I was going. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life.

Then I tell the story again. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. The October showers are unpredictable and unforgiving. I choke back tears as I struggle to memorize his face, the lines around his eyes, the tiny hairs on his chin. My palms were sweaty. All around me, the world was alive. People rushing through the streets with umbrellas to the sky, never knowing that at that exact moment, a heart was breaking. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want that last image of him. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I look around me, the streets, the buildings, there was so much going on around me but not a single place felt like home. I shrug. I didn’t know where I was going. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life. It starts to rain. The people, they keep walking. They never stop. No one ever does. And that’s what it was like when you broke my heart.

Then I tell the story again. Each time I tell it, I get farther and farther away from you. How many more must I write until I’m over you?

Photo: typewriter
♫: Lucy Rose | Shiver (2012)

Monday, October 5, 2015

missing halves



He says “Ah, but that was a lifetime ago” and I nod.

Sometimes, memories are so distant, they stop belonging to you. I remember loving him, I remember slowing my breath so our hearts could beat in time, but it’s as if it was a story someone told me over breakfast or a short film I saw online.

Yes, I loved him but that was a lifetime ago and I’m barely the same person.

One day, I believe all the socks who’ve lost their pairs will find their missing halves. When that time comes, would wethey still feel the same?

This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.

Photo: socks
♫: William Fitzsimmons & Priscilla Ahn | I Don’t Feel It Anymore (2008)