writer's block .. ! ..

http://prowritingtips.com/2008/10/100-jump-starters-to-cure-your-writers-block/

how i can't love you.

I wish I could love you.

It'd be so perfect, wouldn't it?  Opportune. A meet-cute.  A story to tell at a cocktail party surrounded by new friends.

I'd stand at your side as your hand found the small of my back.  It'd be warm, possessive - but not demanding.  We'd share a knowing look, and laugh together at all the right times as we settled into this new life.  I'd marvel at the tiny lines gathering beside your eyes, learning each one.  I'd watch your lips part over imperfect teeth and know that when we got home from the party, slightly wine-drunk and sexually charged, all bets would be off.

It'd be convenient to love you.

Because when I'm with you, my head swims with possibility and exhilaration and uncertainty.  You change me, challenge me, turn me inside out on the very best of days.  It feels an awful lot like the drumroll leading up to a relationship.  But it's not.  You want the Big Things.  Things that frustrate me.  Things I can't give to you. You lure me out of my own head, just to scare me.  And I wonder what it even is I'm doing here.

I thought I could love you.

I rest my feet on your lap as we listen to old records on vinyl, and I consider if this means we are in love.  The old Polaroid of us at the beach hangs on the fridge.  In it, your fingers are tangled in my wet, salt-crusted hair, my eyes are closed and hands outstretched at nothing in particular. We both show our teeth to the camera and they glint with happiness.  From the outside looking in, it looks like we are there - in love, I mean.

It'd be nice.  Obvious.  Right.

I almost wish I could.

But I just can't bring myself to love you.

breakfast.

I remember that you used to like breakfast.

"Do you want to go get breakfast?" I suggest.

"NO.  I don't fucking want to go to breakfast."

The tone in your voice is expected.  But for the first time, I stand my ground.  I refuse to apologize to the maddening mess you are becoming.  I spin on my heel to walk away.

"Well, fuck you and the wrong side of the bed you woke up on."

BIG.

I marveled at his big, chiclet teeth.
They were huge, white, s t a r i n g a t m e.
I smoothed my tongue over them and fell in love.
The kind of love that snaps, crackles, and pops all in an instant.
That dizzied me like a kaleidoscope.
Like my head was under my feet.
He was older but I was wiser.
Wise enough to know better.
But then I forgot.
It was a round-peg in a square-hole or whatever they call it but that's what it was.
Anything sticks together if you have enough glue.
Our dreams were the same! We were changing the world.
Or so we thought.
He said things like, "tomorrow" and "everyday" and "always."
I said, "yes" and "forever" and "only."
Secretly I shuddered.
Big teeth and big heart and big dreams but small us.
It ended in September.
On a Sunday.
And I wonder now where he's gone.

promise.

willfully, she walked.  his hand, a weathered map of long summers past nested carefully in hers.  ordinary, and still a little new, the two reveled in the quiet moment.  the sun was setting slowly through the trees, showering them with the last few rays of daylight, when they reached the small ranch-style home.  the creak of the front steps took her by surprise, but his fingers tightened around hers, and calm instantly subsided her fears.  with a scarcely-subtle smile, she followed him inside, both unaware of the soft promise that trailed behind them.

thingofthepast.

today
it was onthefloor, my heart,
and i would say your worn-out treads
stomped it backtolife

pressure and rhythm and tongues
thatgettied and i whirled around
like a bag - the wind (thatisyou)
filling and carrying me

tomorrow
i will forget the way we
met and made eachother and begin to
undo this mess [trapped] in myownhead

i will pushANDpushANDpush you
until you disappear into a dream
or a memory or this thing ithinkididonce
but now i'm not sure

(pause) - there you are!
whenever i don't want you
so i closemyeyes (squeezethemshut)
and i ask you to go. now. please. . .

you're a blur. a mist. a thingofthepast
and i won't remember you or the way
your fingers felt when they tangletangletangled
in my hair and wrapped around my heart

i will you away. (goaway!) but i miss
the smell of your aftershave and the way
you said 'three' and the tinyjaggedscar
halfhidden by your eyebrow

and i know i can't forget
not today not tomorrow
(but maybe after that)

sleeve.

there's no such thing as wearing a heart on a sleeve. you wear it in your eyes. it trembles with the shake of your voice. or hides behind the sharp, shallow breaths you take between sobs. maybe it even hangs off the pout of your lips. but not a sleeve - never a sleeve.