Heavy hearts and light pockets

In a darkened corner of the club he pushed her against the wall, kissed her. “You believe in love at first sight?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just not for me.”

Thank goodness he had left his wallet at home. His brand new iPhone was a different matter altogether.

The Invisible Woman

She hates waiting. It reminds her of overcrowded bus halts and doctor visits. Being the last to be picked on the team. Standing by the school gate at 3.30 pm as everyone leaves one by one. Sitting at Pizza Hut in her prettiest jeans, chewing the polish off her nails.

She feels her energy drifting away. Already her feet have grown numb. She doesn’t think she can wait much longer, enduring their stares. You know the feeling when you think the whole world is laughing at you and whispering behind your back, but no one cares, not really? No one even sees you.

She likes being invisible, though. It means no one is laughing. But for once, she wishes they would notice her. Talk to him, she wants to say. All he wants is a little attention. He gets tired of waiting, too. After all, he is only three…

Funny, how being invisible makes you put things in perspective. It gives you time to reflect. She reflects on all those moments she could have been visible, but wasn’t.

It is sad, really, how you inevitably want to go back and live the moments you didn’t.

Aftermath is everything. The tyres screech, the mother screams and everyone runs to the middle of the road. She feels the transfer of his energy as it surges through her feet, a pang so sharp and strong it almost makes her feel alive. For an instant she wonders about the moments of his short life, whether the visible moments have been enough to outweigh the invisible ones, or whether, like her, he will spend the rest of eternity feeding off the moments of those that had lived.

 

NOT MY HERO

You stood by the side of the road where

I lay wounded,

Bleeding, refusing to heal,

You did not stoop to lift me in your arms,

Nor pull me up by the hand.

No, you were not my hero,

Not my knight in shining armour.

You simply stood, your hand outstretched,

Just out of reach of mine.

I cried, I cursed, then cried some more,

You simply laughed, in your own strange way,

At me? With me?

Because of me?

Not that I cared.
I looked up from where I lay, laughing

Just a little at your silly grin.

No, you were not my Prince Charming,

Not my dashing Hollywood hero.

I wondered, within my mind,

Would that laughter ever fade?

Would that hand

Ever tire?

Not that I was afraid.

And I stared,

For suddenly your hand seemed

Closer than before,

Though I knew you had not budged an inch.

And I wanted to live,

I wanted to stand.

 

I dreamed of the day I would hold your hand.

Moment in the Sun

My little sunflower. I watch, as you stretch your tiny limbs, reaching for me. I am your sun. I, who have always been cold as death, am now the warmth that gives you life. Your face, just a moment ago a tight, angry red ball is now smooth, white and pure like mother’s milk. I touch you in wonder. It is a softness like I have never felt before, a softness that soothes my callused fingertip as I draw it gently across your rosy, baby cheek.

You stare up at me, the wonder in your squinty eyes mirroring my own. They are still adjusting to the world around…but even at this early stage, I know you know me. Clear green eyes so unlike mine, sparkling like the ripples of a stream in the sun. I lose myself in you.

I watch, seeing my pain in your eyes as your face turns red once more and then blue, and your eyes lose their sparkle as they dull and glaze over. You no longer know me.

And yet you reach out blindly, fingers stretched towards me, even as I strangle you to your death.