Discretion

Close the books, blot out the names. Some feelings are better left unfelt, some skeletons better left in the closet, some things better left unsaid.

The goal is to put grey matter onto the page, not blood and guts all over the walls.

Know your demons, but do not reveal them.

The Ocean Between Us

I want to show you something, I want to take you somewhere. But be warned, oxygen and reality don't exist where we're going.

Gear covers the floor: masks, fins, snorkels, wetsuits, weight belts. Better suit up. We're going wreck diving. 

Sunken ships and buried treasure, exploring the beauty of a once beautiful piece of machinery that perished beneath the waves and made it's final resting place at the bottom of the sea.

Something like that.

From the boat the waves look calm enough, rippling and rolling gently with the wind. Sunlight dances and shimmers on the surface, blinding the eyes and concealing what lies below. The boat is comfortable enough, familiar at least. Landlubber. Time to dive in, headfirst. Can't explore the ocean from the safety of the boat. I'll show you the way. The rules are different down there. Take my hand and hold your breath.

Beneath the waves, the world above is no more. No blue skies, no clouds. The space beneath the waves is cruel, cold, dense, wet. Immersion. Yet there is life. Mountains of coral reefs and hills of underwater vegetation, amazing each in their own way, teeming with life and color. Towering stalks of kelp, speckled sunlight filtering through it's foliage, swaying gracefully in unseen currents, thriving, growing. Unknown creatures, beautiful and dangerous; swimming by, minding their own business, asking you to do the same. Nature is best left untouched. 

The deeper you go, the more things change, the weirder the creatures get, the more the pressure hurts. Less color down here too, away from the sunlight. The pretty blues and greens and yellows slowly descend into grey. The going gets slow, movement is sluggish.

But you're doing well. Most people don't get this deep without their lungs screaming for air and their eyes burning for clarity. Your average Joe doesn't have the intestinal fortitude to push this far, to see what he's never seen before, to step out of his comfort zone. Instead, he panics and paws at the water, scrambling to return to the surface where the air is clear and everything makes sense. But wreckage tends to sink to the bottom.

Further into the depths we go, where birds don't sing and suns don't shine. Light can't penetrate this darkness. Even the glowing, weird-looking fish don't venture this far.

The seabed looms. Empty.

You look confused. Where is it? No sunken ship or doomed vessel? No buried treasure? You came all the way down here to show me an underwater wasteland? There is nothing as far as the eye can see. No life, no movement. Dead.

Where's the wreck?

You're looking at him.

Fate or Fantasy

Just give me the truth.
Is this meant to be?
Or am I simply holding on to an elusive fantasy?

Bootless

Scribble. Crumble. Toss.

Scribble, crumble, toss.

It's become a sick game, played out of despair and sometimes boredom.

Rhythmic, catchy, deadly.

Scribble, crumble, toss.

Try, fail, discard.

Rinse and repeat.

Crumble. Toss. Missed.

Stop. Reluctantly get up, put the rouge projectile in it's place. Try again.

Ready, aim, toss. Made it.

This waste of time, this cycle of maddening nothingness. Crumble, toss.

No longer writing, just tossing. Missing. No good. All of it.

Clock laughs. Stomach growls. Eyes itch. Spirits fall. Darkness deepens.

My eyes fly open.

The road appears before me, slivers of light through oppressive cloud cover. The gate is open.

Scribble. Faster, faster, write, dance, run before it vanishes! GO!

I am somewhere far from here, moving very swiftly, spanning worlds and realms undiscovered.

Desperately trying to hold on.

Fingers slip. Hand cramps. Pencil breaks.

Like a dog abruptly reaching the end of its leash.

Gone.

Crumble. Sigh. Toss.

The wastebasket overflows. My mind is vacant.

Maybe I'm trying too hard.

Maybe I'm not trying hard enough.

Fall asleep regretting everything I never wrote.

Traveler's Guide To Escaping Mental Holes

Step one. 

Stop digging.

Fistful of Sand

Leaves descending from the trees, spinning and twirling like dancers lost in song, landing gracefully in the pond. Like little sailboats caressing the surface, no cargo, no passengers, and no destination; led only by the whims of the wind and sheer luck.

I spent every day at the pond that autumn, watching the leaves fall. I liked my little leaf-boats. I chose them, collected them, raced them across the water, guiding them with my own breath. Soon I had so many boats that the pond was getting crowded. The leaves covered the pond in fiery shades of descending autumn. Maybe I should put my boats out to sea. Even more room and more wind to be free. I set out for the docks with my fleet of leaves to take the world by storm.

At the docks, I saw other boats. Big boats, powerful and efficient. Adorned with names that hung on everyone's lips, masts as thick as trees, harnessing the power of many winds to sail vast oceans, carrying much cargo and many people.

I stood there in awe, still clutching my armload of leaves. These simple leaves would surely be crushed and drown under the bows of such overpowering vessels. My boats used to make me happy; these leaves used to be all I wanted and all I could think about, consuming my mind and my time. Now my once pleasant memories of the pond seemed shallow and stagnant, a complete waste of time. The clanging of ships' horns rang in my ears, the deep murmurs of the horn reverberated in my chest, shaking the foundations of my soul and raising goosebumps on my skin.

My leaves continued to tumble to the ground as they always have, this time in tiny bits and pieces of greens and reds and yellows, slipping through my clenched fists like so much sand.

Last Hope

I was going to sing you a song but I couldn't find the music.

I was going to draw you a picture but I couldn't find a pencil.

I was going to dance you a dance but I couldn't find my feet.

I was going to write you a story but I couldn't find a happy ending.

I was going to make you smile but I couldn't find my heart.

I was going to tell you I loved you but I couldn't find the words to say.

I was going to be your hero but I couldn't save you in time.

I was going to be there for you but I couldn't keep my promise.

I was going to tell you I'm sorry but I couldn't find the courage.

I was going to walk away but you wouldn't let me go.