VANESSA

When your face appears again in my head,
No more does the pain sear, now my smile remains.
No more hurt, no more pain
But the sweetest walk down memory lane.

I told you, I told me.
I was over you, over we.
Yet every night when I close my eyes,
Images of you once again arise.
And you spend the rest of the night with me
Against my will, I like to believe.

Some nights in my dreams
You kiss me gently goodnight
And hold me so tight
Makes this feel so right
But then, dawn breaks
And the reality we both know
Is that the one you love
Isn't me anymore
Her with the barbie hair and gorgeous face
Slaps me tight, puts me back in my place.
Disillusioned, shattered, all alone.
You left me standing there, cold, forlorn.

Head held high, Veronica Saxton sashayed down the red carpet, her off-shoulder black gown hugging her in all the right places, accentuating her near-perfect figure. Silky blond hair twisted into a classy updo, her exquisitely made-up face was aglow. To anyone watching, the glow was understandable. She was glowing with joy, with love, with, well, perfection.

 

She had it all. She literally lived in the heart of the glitter and glamour of Hollywood, residing in a massive mansion on Beverly Hills. Veronice Saxton entered show business at the tender age of five as a child model and was found to belong there naturally. At the age of twenty-six, she had starred in countless Hollywood blockbusters, appeared in hundreds of advertisements, won dozens of beauty pageants, strutted numerous catwalks and was known all throught he world, aptly dubbed the epitome of flawlessness.

 

Veronica Saxton returned home at 5 am, the usual time she would enter her billion dollar residence and for once be alone. Shrugging off her empty but expensive shell of designer labels, she looked into the mirror and saw imperfection. She had never realized that her nose was tilted a little too much to the left. A freckle. A blemish that needed removal.

 

Looking around the luxurious room that practically reeked of the thousands of crisp dollar bills used to furbish it, Veronica felt a gnawing in her heart. A greed. A greed for more. The mink rug sprawled on the cold granite floor just was not enough. The same went for the velvet curtains draped over her full-length glass windows. Neither were the crystal chandeliers that adorned her enormous living room.

 

Picking up her diamond-studded mobile phone, she made reservations, appointments and arrangements to see that her house was to be extended, her freckle to be removed, her furniture to be upgraded. Her final phone call was for her personal chauffeur to drive her to ‘The Grand Mirage’.

 

Slipping into a champagne-coloured cocktail dress and casually clasping a large diamond necklace around her neck, Veronica left her house.

 

It was the smell of the place that attracted Veronica. The casino held the stench of dirty money, easy money. It was where she could get more. The mere thought sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through her entire being. Time to begin.

 

Her pretty face was contorted into a series of lines and curves. The desire for more was now apparent in the almost crazed gleam in her eyes as she very deliberately eased a few towering columns of casino chips towards the dealer. She then spread out her royal flush on the table, her immaculately manicured nails framing it like a possessive animal over its spoils.

 

Having had been abandoned by her parents as a child, Veronica grew up unloved and incapable of loving. What she truly yearned for, was simply love. But she ahd no idea. This intense hunger for love thus manifested itself in the form of her uncontrollable greed of material possessions. Watching as veronica was rewarded with her fifth wave of winnings, the crows was abuzz with anticipation, half-hoping she would finally lose, yet half wondering if she could really be lucky enough to win six times in a row.

 

This time, Veronica pushed her entire mountain of chips towards the professional dealer who knew better than to react. However, the same could not be said for the crowd she had attracted. A collective gasp could be heard when Veronica had drawled, “Everything.” The murmur that ran through the crowd filled Veronica with the same greed she had experienced the first time she had begun gambling. Heart thudding erratically against her ribcage, Veronica watched as her cards were dealt.

 

Twenty minutes later, Veronica was back home, her thumb stroking her solid gold lighter with a tenderness she had never before experienced. Not getting more was Veronica’s greatest fear, and losing any bit of what she owned was almost on par. She had lost.

 

“Prevention is better than cure, Veronica. We’ll soon be together in a place where no one can take anything away from you,” she crooned softly to herself , to the now petroleum-doused millions that surrounded her. The tiny flame licked greedily at the silk bedspread beneath her and within seconds engulfed her in its infernal prison. Greed had led to destruction, in this case, self-destruction.

t is night, where I stand.

 

The world, shrouded in a fog of inky darkness. The air tastes cold, fresh, new. A rush of wind brushes past me, ever so gently tousling my hair.

 

Where I stand, the sky is unobscured. There are no cement towers to block me from its marvelous expanse, no man-made distractions to take away the breath-taking splendour of God’s creations. No. It was just me, and the sky.

 

The grass beneath my bare feet felt moist and inviting. Every dewdrop tasted delicious on my skin, tantalizing me to revel in it, to just lie down and forget the world, savour the sweetness of clean, untainted grass. Grass grown naturally wherever they delighted, not controlled nor restrained, to be trampled on and spat on by the uncouth.

 

No unnatural lights disrupt the beauty of the night here. Tilting my head just the slightest bit upward, I see them.

 

I see them all decked in their splendid gowns of brilliant white. The purest shades of dove’s feathers, the lightest tinge of cloud. Their long flowing hair spread out like a sea around their heads, untamed, unrestrained. Masses of gold, silk-spun hay. I see the stars. The stars with faces like angels, their radiance so sweet and immaculate, I felt small. I felt belittled. I felt inadequate in their glory. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide myself till the sun rose and outshone them, so I would feel better. But they smiled at me, their wondrous smiles filling me with an incomparable joy. An incomprehensible peace.

 

I felt light, like the froths one would see when waves come rushing in to break on the massive rocks. The peace amidst the storm.

 

I can see for miles, where I stand. See past places us humans inhabit, see past places us humans destroy. I can almost see right to the ends of the earth. But still, I do not see what I am looking for.

 

I wonder where heaven is. Some magnificent glorious place high above the clouds? I’d always doubted that theory. I’d imagined heaven to be right at the horizon of the end of the earth. I’d imagined it to be in clear view from where I stood. Evidently, it wasn’t.

 

I looked so hard I felt the backs of my eyes burn, but still, I do not see. I do not see you.

 

Does heaven have such wonderful grass, such beautiful skies? Heaven must be a delightful place to be. Why didn’t you take me with you there? But I imagine you must be having a ball with the angels there, no need my company.

 

Tell me again, how it felt when you’d met God! Did you see his face? Did He shine as bright as the sun so that you couldn’t look Him straight in the face?

 

Tell me, so I can prepare myself to meet Him. So that they day I meet you again, I’ll be ready. Ready to meet God, ready to meet you.

 

Remember me. Remember me wherever you are.

 

It is night, where I stand. I hope it is too where you do, because then maybe, we might be under the canopy of the same dark sky, watching the glittering of the same thousand stars.

 

For every second that you are asleep

For every minute of your blessed week

For every hour that you walk the streets

Is every eternity that I beseech

 

A look my way

A thought a day

Of me as you turn

To me and say

A look my way (I love you)

A thought a day (I miss you)

To me and say (I need you)

Do you know that it hurts

When I think about you

 

More than you think

More than you know

My life is a story

That’s grey, drab and cold

 

More than I’m worth

More than you’re told

It’s easy to see

That I can’t let go

 

For every second that you are awake

For every minute more memories you make

For every hour and time your heart breaks

Is every eternity that you can take

 

While I wait

For you

While I say

I love you

When you see

I miss you

That maybe we

Are meant to be

Meant to be

Meant to be

To be

When i close my eyes, I feel an emptiness resounding within me. There is a certain void in my heart, I cannot make out. A gaping hole that can't be bridged. Maybe, it's where that piece of your heart used to lie, so perfectly.

Like it had belonged there.

And when you'd turned to leave, you'd taken it away with you. I tell myself it's for the better. Clearing out the old to make space for the new, but I didn't realise that the wounds you left never properly healed. And every time I tried to fill it again, the wound reopens. no matter how I try to let it heal, it doesn't. No matter how I try to mend it, I fail.

My heart, is wasted. Wasted on you. 

It's raining again.

The cold wind whips past outside my window, sending smatterings of rain across the glass. Pushing the window open just the slightest bit, a gust catches me on the cheek, momentarily taking my breath away. Almost the way you do.

I watch as the rain streaks down to meet hard cement and unfeeling tarmac. A pang of pity strikes me, as I imagine the pain the poor raindrops must go through upon hitting the ground. It must hurt.

It's raining harder and the droplets that reach the floor begin to pool together. Safety in numbers, it's never good to be alone. I find a wry smile creeping onto my face as I remember the way your lips had curved when you'd spoken those very words.

The rain is coming down in sheets now, shrouding my entire view in a cloud of fog, a misty sort of delusion. As if when the cloud lifts and visibility is restored, I'll find you standing there outside my window once more.

Like you'd never even left.

If anyone has been following pleasefindthis.blogspot.com, you'll know the competition currently going on. I didn't put the photo on his blog here cause I don't know if that'll infringe some copyright shizz, but yeah. This is my caption for that photo.

'The gray melds into the white, into the black. A smattering of droplets inhibit vision to a certain point, and then I find it gets clear. The picture comes into focus and I see what I have been trying to tell you the whole time.

 

It’s raining.

 

I surprise myself at the simplicity of that statement.'

Seven miles away

Bound by the yellow sky

Ions or miracles

Listening to your voice

Alone in my room

Thank God for Alexander Graham Bell

And his brilliant brains

Smells like rain

Let’s tell stories of dogs

Have I told you I miss you?

Future, past, present

Where do we belong?

There is really no distinction

Past, present and future meld together

Just hoping it’s a smooth ride

The night is cold

And crows are misunderstood

The next Oliver Twist or Jamie Oliver

All Olivers, unlike you

Stories for bedtime

Pretty night skies

Flashing lightning

I lie awake for you

Do you hear me?

I’m talking to the beautiful yellow sky

Iridescent chrome

All alone in the dark night

With you and not with you

I’m trying to reach

Reaching out to touch the yellow sky

Reaching out across seven miles to touch you

Can you see

Can you hear

Can you feel me,

Wanting you?

Lethargy descends

Talk me to sleep

I still love you today

Cold raindrops fall for you

I fall for you

Good night

It’s time for bed, my love

Change. Transform. Metamorphose.

 

So many ways to prove the same point. That something, or someone, has become, different. It can be a small alteration, a miniscule tweak of behaviour perhaps. But it could also be a massive change. Like a change of heart.

 

A cold blast of wind struck me in the cheek as the automatic doors of the airport slid open noiselessly. I’d missed the weather! I took a deep breath of the fresh clean air and absent-mindedly twirled the cashmere scarf that was draped loosely around my neck.

 

Then it hit me full force what I’d really missed so much. Matt. A smile tugged on the corners of my lips and I wrapped the soft cashmere scarf tighter and more snug around my neck, inhaling the sweet scent of our memories.

 

I couldn’t wait to meet him again. At this thought, I found myself craning my neck in hopes of a glimpse of the familiar glint of the shiny red car. But there was none. Wouldn’t there be anyone picking me? I wondered, and then realized I had said that out loud when a little girl and her mother glanced over oddly.

 

I blushed a little in embarrassment, then walking slowly to a corner with my huge suitcase in tow, I fished out my cell phone and checked for any messages or missed calls I might have gotten, but there were none.

 

I’d only been away for 6 months. He couldn’t have forgotten me already, could he? I brushed away the thought with a little giggle to myself. Silly me, he wouldn’t. He’s probably busy today.

 

Then, making up my mind, I flagged down a cab and hopped in, rattling off Matt’s address to the cab driver. I couldn’t help smiling at how easily Matt’s address rolled off my lips, like it belonged there. Like I belonged there. I leaned back against the seat and found myself drifting off to sleep,

 

When I next opened my eyes, I saw that we were getting close. The buildings that flashed past my eyes filled me with such a sense of familiarity, I had to resist the urge to jump out and embrace them like long-lost friends. I imagined Matt’s deep brown eyes and the feel of his arms around me and felt an excitement growing n me, I’d missed him so much.

 

Finally, the cab rounded a corner and pulled up at Matt’s apartment. I almost kissed the cab driver in glee, tossing him a wad of bills and telling him to keep the change, before lugging my suitcase out and making my way slowly up the flight of stairs.

 

Finally, I stood at the door of his apartment, the familiar front door greeting my cheerfully. I grinned back at it, and feeling cheeky, gave it a little curtsy and mouthed ‘How do you do’ to it. I laughed at my own ridiculousness, then finally regaining my composure, dug deep into my handbag for the keys to the apartment.

 

Slotting the key in with an almost trembly hand, I turned it. And found that it stuck. Oh stupid me, my hand was trembling from anticipation so hard I couldn’t even turn the silly key. I tried again.

 

It wouldn’t open.

 

A niggling thought crept into my mind. He might have changed the lock. Why wouldn’t he have told me? I pull the key out in slight annoyance, then decided on the doorbell. I’d get the new key from him later. I dismissed the thought, and listened happily as the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the door greeted me.

 

The door pulled open to reveal my boyfriend of two years, his hair as always boyishly disheveled, the every contour of his face exactly as I’d remembered it. I gave a little squeal of excitement and leaped into his arms, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. I noted that it smelt different.

 

“Matt! I’ve missed you so much! Did you change your lock? Oh and you smell different! New aftershave?” I rattled off, too ecstatic to be back in his arms to think properly.

 

And then I noticed. I noticed how his arms were hardly touching me, and his every muscle was sort of tensed. I blinked once, trying to understand what it meant when a voice came from inside the apartment. A female voice.

 

“Who’s that sweetheart?”

 

I stopped. Slowly extricating myself from Matt’s familiar body, I recoil from what he has become inside. I take a step back and look at him. His eyes were unreadable, almost blank.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I met Jess and we just really hit it off.  We wouldn’t have lasted anyway. I thought you’d understand. I’ll be seeing you around.”

 

He turned to call back to Jessica, who had now emerged from the room, a terry cloth bathrobe tied tight around her lithe body, accentuating her curves, and bringing out the brilliant blue of her eyes.

 

“Wrong unit.”

 

As he closed the door on me, I caught another glimpse of the face I’d grown to love over the past two years. Every contour of it, from his deep-set eyes, to the gentle curve of his nose, and even his lips, parted now just slightly to let out a breathy ‘sorry’.

 

And the door slammed shut in my face.

 

I spent the next two weeks calling and paying visits to convince myself it was an awful april fool’s joke that came late. But from what I heard from my family as well as my best friend Mabel, it was true.

 

He had changed. He had become someone no one else knew anymore. He had stopped loving me somewhere in the six months I’d been away. And they’d never had the heart to tell me, intending to break it to me only after I got home, not thinking I’d naturally look for him first thing I got home.

 

He had changed. The Matt I knew had died. Died a tragic death, leaving in its wake, a monster. And as the old Matt had died, along with it, died the old Samantha, leaving me behind. Me, a mere shell of my old self. The shell along the side of the pavement, the one little children find so fun to kick onto the road where the large trucks come trundling by and unwittingly crush into a million little fragmented pieces.

 

Crushed, transformed, changed.

It’s been a hundred times

I’ve said this

Both to myself or even to you

That it’s time to wash you out

Out of my cluttered head

 

I’ve tried over and over

To get you out

From this messed up heart that’s mine

I’ve tried to flush you out

But I failed every time

But I mean it this time when I say

 

I want you out

Out of me

Out of my broken heart

Cause you want your way

I should go mine

We had a past

But now it’s time

Time to live

In this world, in the present

Where you and me no longer belong

Together

 

Sometimes in the dark

When I close my eyes

I think about you and I cry

For the emptiness inside of me

And I feel my heart break anew

 

I’ve tried over and over

To get you out

From this messed up heart that’s mine

I’ve tried to flush you out

But I failed every time

But I mean it this time when I say

 

I want you out

Out of me

Out of my broken heart

Cause you want your way

I should go mine

We had a past

But now it’s time

Time to live

In this world, in the present

Where you and me no longer belong

Together

 

 

I stare silently at the scab on my leg, the little contraption a blackish splotch that spelled imperfection.

I felt a horrible itch in my hand to reach out and peel the scab. I stopped myself and thought of the pain ripping it off my skin and the horrifying scar it would leave, a blemish on my skin to be had forever. But the corners of the scab were curling up invitingly and I found my finger wandering over to the darkened patch. And then I found my finger testing the edge of the scab to see if it was ready to be picked. It was. I couldn't take it any longer.

I lifted one side and pulled gently. I winced a little as I felt the scab being pulled apart from my skin, the tearning pain sent tingles down my spine. A bright crimson pool spilled out from where I'd started peeling the scab, oozing its way across my skin. I continue with the excavation, pulling and picking until the whole scab was removed. I observe the raw flesh of the wound i'd revealed, the blood forming little deltas down one side of my leg.

But I didn't care. The pain was strangely soothing. And then I wondered, it felt a little silly to have picked off the healing layer my skin had formed over my wound. It had been formed to protect the open wound from bacteria, dirt or anything else that could hurt it again. It had been my body's natural mechanism to ensure the wound would heal and the skin under it made as good as new once more. And I'd picked it right off.

I wipe up the spilled blood with a tissue and pick up a tiny square of antiseptic swab. Mentally willing myself to be strong, I gently allow the swab and my wound to meet. The reaction was instantaneous. Tears sprung to my eyes and I felt like the searing would completely rip my leg in half. The tears were cascading down my face of their own accord, each droplet bringing a little it of the pain along and slowly the sting mellowed into a dull throbbing and then a cooling sort of numbness.

It was only now that I reached the back of my hand to my cheek and found it soakedwith tears. I'd hardly even noticed. I loked down at the salmon-pink patch of flesh that I'd exposed and find myself in a raher bewildered state. It's almost like I'd wanted it to hurt.

I knew the pain it would leave, but I went ahead with it anyway. How stupid was I? Oh extremely so, but can I help it? No, it seems I can't. And I gently finger the edges of the wound again, knowing that a few days from now, when another layer of platelets has formed over it. I'd go through the same agony again.

And increasingly, I found, I'd become slave to hurting myself.

I looked back at the transience of the eight months we'd shared and wonder why it didn't last longer, why it couldn't last longer. And then, it kinda hit me. I knew why.

I'd known you for... slightly more than half a year as acquaintances. Nothing more. All I knew was your name and nothing else.

And then, you took the first step. You talked to me. I began to find you nice, and well, kinda sweet. So we planned an outing for a week later with a big group of friends, clearly meant to be platonic. But there wasn't enough space, and I found myself squashed beside you on the sofa. We were touching. That was the first time I felt your skin against mine, and it wasn't the last.

A while later, we went for another outing, to the beach this time. The night before, I plucked up my courage and called you to ask for details about the outing. You called me back and soon, it became a ritual.

At the beach, you put your arms around me, playfully, to drag me into the water. And it was like this that we jumped from being acquaintances to lovers, only briefly skimming friends.

We'd made the fatal mistake maybe, of thinking we could befriend each other after we got together. And it did, in the end, prove deadly. Cause everything we'd ever shared seemed to have simply died.

I saw you upclose again that day for the first time in a long time.

I felt a heat radiate from deep within, somewhere I couldn't exactly pinpoint. It just spread through me like a river of fire. You were standing there, the you I'd remembered so well. The every contour of your face was achingly familiar, undeniably inviting. And then, I watched as your eyes blank over, letting a guard of emotionlessness shroud, almost casually over you.

It's like you weren't you anymore. You put up that barrier so I wouldn't be able to break through. You built it, specially to keep me out.

Your deliberate yet almost unconscious action sent a shiver through my body. I found myself trembling, like I was fearful, frightened. Of? Of you. Of how you could have changed so drastically in such a short span, and went from everything to nothing.

I turned and walked away, the tears no longer falling down my face, but down my heart.

It's like you'd died and in your wake, left a monster. And it's victim, was me.

It’s been months since you’d last held my hand

Kissed me on the cheek

Told me how much you’d loved me

 

I’d almost gotten used to life without you

Told myself time would heal all wounds

Turned away when my eyes met yours

 

But these words you once wrote me

Imprinted on the paper

Imprinted in my heart

Each word reopening old caves where love once lived

Seeping through the crevices

Diffusing into the core of my being

And my tears fall again

For you

 

I tell myself you were merely a fling

That you didn’t make much of an impact in my life

That what we shared was so young, so shallow

 

But your words once again

Evoke something so precious

A feeling I’ll never forget

 

Because the surge of emotion that came with that letter

Will never be erased

And I know someday when we’re all grown up

We’ll look back and laugh about it

But deep inside we’ll know

We shared something special once

And my tears fall again

For you

Beauty is only skin deep. Inner beauty is what truly matters. Or so I’d been told, too many times.

 

Outside the window, the rain is falling down in sheets. Against the grey slab of concrete wall leans an old beggar in scraps, head downcast, totally blending in against the drabness of the wall and of the gloomy air.

 

At the edge of the wall, a small sprout of grass has grown and is peeping out there. Bright, lush green. Two tiny flowers stand uncertainly amidst the few tender blades of grass, their pretty pink heads nodding, nodding. Nodding along to the patter of raindrops.

 

Now, a woman. A statuesque woman, decked in a long mauve dress, stylishly held up by a high-waisted belt, a white fur-trimmed coat draped over her shoulders. An expensive-looking umbrella shelters her privileged blond updo from getting wet. Her high-heeled boots go click clicking on the pavement.

 

Beauty? Which? Who defines beauty? Why is beauty held in such high esteem? Why should it matter if your nose is angled too low or if your eyes don’t open wide enough? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, no?

 

The flowers in their birthday suits are the most beautiful of all. Because that was the way God had made them, and that is the way they grow and die. They are deemed beautiful simply in what God had clothed them in, they never had a choice of plastic surgery.

 

I silently draw the curtains tightly close.

 

Sure the woman is beautiful, she holds her head high, carries herself well, dresses in the latest styles, has perfectly unblemished skin.

 

The beggar is ugly, because he’s got streaks of dirt smeared on his face, his fingernails are overgrown and are caked with dirt. His clothes are torn and old, unwashed for a long while. Where is the beauty in there?

 

I sit down on my bed in the dark room, and ponder, hard. Was beauty held in so high regard because it was exclusive? Because only certain people were born with it and the rest were merely ordinary.

 

Those who were born beautiful had beauty thrust upon their shoulders.

 

Those who sought for beauty have turned to additives. Things to make their faces, their bodies look more ‘beautiful’.

 

If God had created the world where everyone looked beautiful and there were only a select few who looked more ordinary than those others. Would being ordinary become a privilege? Would being ugly become a need?

 

Would everyone in the world then hope to look ordinary because they would then be considered special, unique? It hurt to think about how life could have been had the world been created that way.

 

I had lived sixteen years of my life in the shade. In the darkest places of the earth to try to hide myself from sight. I had been born a freak. My room, it’s small, it’s only got one window. It’s bare.

 

There are no mirrors in the house.

 

I know it’s so I wouldn’t scare myself when I looked in the mirror. I had never seen myself since I was eight. I had accidentally seen my reflection in a pond when my parents had  brought me out, trying to pretend I was normal.

 

I hated myself then.

 

My eyes are set too near together, my nose is grotesquely twisted. I have a cleft-lip and my teeth cannot grow out properly. My hair isn’t normal, it emerges in little tufts at random spots on my head. My limbs stick together weirdly, as if I have polio, except I don’t.

 

The doctors cannot figure out what went wrong, they just pray that I’m one of a kind.

 

Imagine if they sold beauty in pills. Would everyone buy it? Maybe, just maybe.

 

But what good would this world be if it were filled with beautiful clones? People like me added colour, added a level of elevation of beauty for those people to reach.

 

If I had the money, would I surgically correct my deformities? I believe not. Sure I’d like to be beautiful just like those supermodels sashaying down the catwalks, but I’d try so hard to hide my past from the world because I’d be so embarrassed of what I truly was underneath the layers of surgery.

 

I am beautiful. I was created beautiful by God and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I am deemed beautiful simply n what God had clothed me in. I will grow and die in my beauty.

 

Beauty? Maybe someday the world might be as I wished and I’d be deemed beautiful by the world. Right after the beauty pills start being sold I’m sure. Till then, I bid good night to the world because I belong here, in the dark.

 

Where I do not scare anyone with my version of beauty.

If I could rewind my life.

 

I say I’d make it perfect, say I’d make the right choices this time, not do the same foolish things I did before. Say I would have chosen not to have met you, say I would not have allowed myself to fall in love with you.

 

I say I’d have never agreed to go out alone with you, would never have decided to give away my first kiss to you. I would never have allowed us to get so close and save ourselves all the tears we’d shed.

 

If I could rewind my life to the point where we’d first met, I’d say I would have walked in the other direction. I would not have slept so late every night just to hear your voice, would not have allowed you to get so close to me.

 

I say I would rewind my life and erase all the times we’d shared, all the times I’d spent with you.

 

If I honestly held the remote with the rewind button on it to rewind my life this second, I’d still say I want life without you.

 

But if I really did hit the button and were rewound to the point where I first met you, however, I trust I wouldn’t do anything different.

 

I wouldn’t change a single second of the time we spent together. I’d rewind my life just to relive the oments we’d once shared.

 

I’d cherish the trail of kisses you left down my neck, hold close the memories of your lips on mine. Never forget my hand in yours and forever keep your arm around my waist.

 

I wouldn’t change the tears we shed, nor take back the words I said, I would simply go through life again just to be yours again for that fleeting moment.

 

Cause my life wouldn’t be right without you in it at all, even just for a while. It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

It burns.

 

Ice, is merely the solidified state of water. Normal, pure water that none of us can live without. Yet, when the molecules inside the water get cold enough, they begin to huddle together, drawn close by strong forces of attraction, giving them no chance to move around freely, only able to vibrate in their fixed positions. Hardened. Impenetrable.

 

Your heart, my friend, has turned to ice.

 

We were young once. We were best friends, we proclaimed it loud, we proclaimed it proud. Every word you uttered then came from so innocent a pair of cherry lips on that fresh, cherubic face.

 

Eight years ago, when we had first become friends, I remember, you held my hand as we crossed that road.

 

It was a busy day. Cars trundled up and down the road, all hurrying off some place or other. The blaring horns that filled the air quite frightened me. You squeezed my palm gently with your small hand, and a comfort, a strange soothing comfort took the place of my fear.

                 

Your raven curls bounced around your face as you looked right, left, then right again. Just like we’d been taught so many times.

 

We crossed the road. Safe and sound. Best friends as ever.

 

Ice cools me down on warm days. Yes, it does indeed. But have you ever held an ice cube in your bare hands? You feel the cold on your skin intensifying. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it seems to have seeped right through your skin to the warm crimson river flowing through your veins, freezing it.

 

Scarlet crystals form on the river banks and the surface is one large reflective bed. Then, you begin to feel a sharp pain. You feel like the ice is eating your skin, eating your flesh, gnawing at your bones.

                                   

The pain is so great, you feel like you’re on fire. You feel like you are being burnt alive. Then something fills the space where the pain was, something that doesn’t feel like anything at all.

 

Numbness.

 

Ice doesn’t freeze instantly. It takes time. Takes time for the cold to spread. It did, between us. It froze, slowly but surely.

 

I remember, we were fighting. Fighting over him. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. The ice took over.

 

“Well Miss Perfect, if you think you’re any better than me, ask your boyfriend why he’d rather be with me than you!” I meant for that to smart, but the look in her eyes showed me that it did more than just that. Much more.

 

Her almond-eyes flashed, and through the hard fury, I spied betrayal. I saw, by the betrayal, hurt, bitterness and pain. And deep in your eyes, I watched as the tears that had begun to form, hardened and turned to ice.

 

We were crossing the road again. You, composed. Quiet. Icy. I was behind you, trying to apologize, trying to make things right, trying to take back the things I said. I only looked at you, I could not look right, or left. Or anywhere else for that matter.

 

I hardly even noticed when the black car sounded its horn. The same blaring that had frightened me eight years ago, did not even cause me to flinch. But you turned. You saw before I did.

 

I heard your scream, and almost instantaneously, heard a sickening thud. I felt my legs buckle under me. It felt like a surge of electricity had just jolted me. I felt the hard, hard tar under me, but all I could see was your horror-stricken face.

 

My eyes wanted to close. They wanted to give up, but I forced myself to look at you. Melt, I was yelling in my head. Melt! One tell-tale teardrop trickled silently down your cheek. And then, I saw that you had thus cried your last tear over me. I had used up my reserves.

 

All that was left in those beautiful eyes was ice.

 

You couldn’t approach me even if you wanted to. The ice, it was too strong. Too strong to overcome. I felt a piercing pain in my chest when I watched you turn to leave. My head, it hurt!

 

The dyed, auburn hair streaked out behind you.

 

I felt no pain, but the excruciating ice was upon me. I felt like I was trapped in an ice cube. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel anything. There was wetness all around me. I gave up and let my eyes close.

 

I did not die, and I resent that. The ice never melted. It would not melt so easily. It would not melt forever. I could tell.

 

Ice, it burns. Ironic. But true.

Snap.

A moment is captured in time.

Love can be captured in that instant.

He stood alone, a dim amber glow emanating from the small lamp perched on his table, its slight rays giving a subdued quietness to the whole room.

It was his favourite place to be, anytime at all. His apartment was a small one. Simple, with two rooms, one of which he’d gotten converted into a darkroom, especially for his favourite hobby. Taking photographs.

He liked how the silver nitrate sloshed gently over the potential photograph, and how seemingly by magic, images would appear on the sheet to become photographs. Memories that could be stored and kept forever.

He liked how a happy moment could be only so transient, but how if that moment was captured on film and properly developed, could be everlasting. He watched as two blurry figures began appearing on the sheet in his glove-clad hand.

He remembered when he’d taken the photograph. He remembered it as being beautiful. It had been at the beach.

The sea was blue, bluer than he’s ever seen it, the sky and sea, seamless. The sun shone low over the waters, it’s brilliant rays piercing through the cloudless sky. The sea sparkled like a million diamonds, the crystal clear surface only occasionally broken by a rushing wave.

Snap.

Her auburn hair streamed gold in the light of the sun.

Snap.

Her lithe body was accentuated, her every feature perfectly formed in the most beautiful smile.

Snap.

The little child she held had hair like spun gold. His porcelain-like skin, blushed pink with exertion from a morning of playing in the sun, was the epitome of health. The epitome of childish happiness.

Snap.

Their eyes were the most brilliant blue. Aquamarine.

She, in her white sundress, the little toddler in a denim jumpsuit, his little feet wrapped in miniature sized shoes. He’d watched them as they played, adjusting the lenses on his camera, clicking a button here and there, removing a certain part, wiping it gently, then replacing it.

Lifting the little window to his eyes, he looked through the viewfinder to see the world in an entirely different light. He saw colours in the most abstract forms, saw figures in the most unique ways. And he captured it.

Glinting, reflecting.

He watched on as the mother and child leapt across the sand so white, seemingly without a care in the world. Leap, leap, leap.

Leave the world behind! Her every action spoke. Leave everything behind! The little child drank in those words. The two leaped so high once, he thought they were going to leap right out of reach, into the sun. Forever.

But their time was not up yet. He could still take a few more photographs. Snap, snap, snap. He shot furiously, almost with a vengeance. It was as if he knew he would lose them soon. But he didn’t.

Auburn hair, bright blue eyes, beauty redefined.

Captured. All captured.

Bang.

An accident took place that evening, on the road between their house and the park opposite.

It had sounded so much like a snap. Just magnified by a thousand times. And the shrieks, the screams. No, a photograph was still, a photograph was silent. But he could still see the photograph, could still hear the sounds that came with it. Could hear. Hear everything.

Lifting the photograph out of the tray, he looks directly into the eyes of the beautiful woman with the auburn hair.

She can see me. She’s here. Here with me in this room.

He closes his eyes for a second, and hears a snap as the photograph of their wedding appear in his head. Snap, the photograph of their firstborn on his christening day. Snap, the photograph of the car, the bang, the blood, the emptiness of his life.

He reaches up to gently peg the photograph on the line stretched taut across the room.

He hadn’t dared to develop these photographs for a long time. And slowly, they go up on that string, one by one, one by one. The memories flash, one by one, one by one.

Photographs. They were his life, because reality had passed him by. And the ones he loved had leapt.

Right out of reach.

You gave me a strange lease of it

Life, I mean

It’s funny how just a while ago

Three months ago

Perhaps more

We were so in love

My head nestled in the crook of your

Shoulder

Like it belonged there

For good

How wrong I was to think so

I remember

How warm your embrace

Was

When I was in it

Strange isn’t it

How now when I look at you

The warmth is

Dissipated

I imagine how cold it is

Because the love is gone

Evaporated like some expensive perfume

Sure it smells good

While it lasts

It bothers me

Greatly when I see her in your arms

She doesn’t fit in your arms right

She doesn’t belong there by your side

She doesn’t

She shouldn’t

She wouldn’t

She won’t

She just isn’t me

A case of sour grapes, yes

But it’s sad

Cause that’s me there

That sour grape

So sour

It hurts