At Rest


There’s such perfection in his imperfection, the way he repeats himself when he’s really excited, but remembering every word he said and reciting it completely, not adding, not omitting, making it just as precise the second time around.

I love the way his mind won’t sit still; it’s the same as my wandering spirit, always fighting with every other part of us to work together, all the while wanting, needing, aching to move. Not because we aren’t happy where we are, we have different reasons for our need to move around, but the urge is still there, deep inside us, like electricity running through our every fiber.

There’s always a song in our hearts, never the same one as in the other’s but it’s music all the same. Sometimes he taps his finger or wiggles his foot in tune with a melody that only he can hear. My craving for music can only be soothed by putting on my headphones and letting the chords take me far away because in music I feel no pain, even when it reminds me of the past. It’s like watching a slide show, images that were and that will never be again. Images that cannot hurt me.

He always leaves his clothes exactly where he took them off, his boots are the same. I shove my dirty clothing into nooks and crannies because our laundry basket is full of my journals, all of them with a dozen or more pages torn out, words that could never quite express me perfectly. Sometimes I fold my tank tops up and put them back into my drawers, but I always smell them and decide they don’t smell clean, even if I’ve washed them six times since the last time I wore them. He throws his work shirts at the end of our bed at the end of a long day and by Saturday he is sniffing, the same as me.

Sometimes I get cravings for specific foods and nothing and everything else I eat is just as good, just as satisfying. My mind won’t let me forget these treats until I seem to be passing twelve gas stations on my way to everywhere and nowhere and I have to, HAVE TO, stop in and get whatever it is. He stashes his snacks on the floor next to his side of the bed, he’s very much more adventurous when it comes to food than I am and he comes home with the most exotic sounding foods, things I’ve never heard of. He doesn’t usually finish these snacks, sometimes he admits that they looked and sounded better than they actually tasted but he lived in the moment for that one moment while he was choosing it and while that may not seem monumental, truly it is.

Sometimes I think that I am unlovable because my mind it moves too quickly, it’s too negative, it’s been beaten and bent and broken and bruised, the same as my heart. He never gives up on trying to show me that not everyone is the same and that some hands are delicate with such fragile things, some touches are light and tender. And when my mind won’t stop moving, when his mind won’t stop moving and when his body yearns to move and my spirit wants to break free, in those moments when we are next to each other he reaches out and touches me and we are both still.



Inside the Lines


Does anyone even read words anymore? And I don’t mean the newspaper, magazines, meaningless pages and pages of garbage. Words, I mean heartfelt words that are oftentimes written from deep within broken hearts and spirits, shattered hopes and dreams, tragedy and depression. Does anyone remember the greatness that can come from these words? 

I’ve been horrible at keeping up with my blog. For awhile there I was doing well, posting a Weekend Coffee Share every Sunday, and attempting a Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers post a few times. Was it a few times? Maybe I never published it. A few other posts as well, but then I just kinda fell away. I watched my number of readers climb and it amazed me. I often wondered Do these people even care about what I’m writing? 

Maybe that’s why I don’t stay consistent with my writing. Because I figure what I have to say doesn’t matter much to anyone but me. And that’s okay with me. Afterall, I write for myself and maybe one other. One other that I’m always hoping will read my words. I always hope that this one person will understand what I am trying to say, where I am coming from. I don’t know if they do. That doesn’t much matter either though.

What can I say that would be real? And I don’t mean real in the sense of chatter about my day. My days are very mundane. Repetitive. Exhausting. I tried to explain once to someone that I love how exhausting life is for me and I think it depressed them. But it’s the truth. It’s the same motions, the same people, the same job, the same talk day in and day out. It’s like that movie Groundhog Day, you know, with Bill Murray. Always waiting to wake up and not be stuck on repeat. Only that never happens.

The thought of adulthood used to depress me when I was a child. The reality of working my fingers to the bone to buy a house and car and extravagant things for myself, my family, only to spend the rest of my life indebted to paying these things off. Adulthood always seemed like such a ripoff. And sometimes I still feel like this.

Ah yes, but the small things! Things like watching this tiny pup of mine in her playful days, becoming accustomed to her new surroundings while building bonds with our family. Things like watching my son excel in football this season. Listening to my Oldest Daughter sing in her school’s choir. Listening to Youngest Daughter tell me interesting things she learned in school and her artwork! It’s wonderful! No, these things make these dreadfully disappointing days worthwhile. It’s just all the moments in between that disappointment me.

These days move far too quickly yet all the while I feel as though I am standing still.


Take a Walk With Me


Turn the page,

Don’t stop reading now.

This is the good part.


The climax is approaching,

a surprise in store,

just read a little further,

I promise it gets better.


Pull the covers around you,

ignore that sound you just heard.

I promise it’s nothing.

The words are just beginning.


Walk with me through these worlds,

don’t let go of my hand.

Take this journey with me,

let’s discover this new place together.


I won’t spoil the ending,

tell me what you’re thinking.

Was it all that you had hoped for?

Where do you want this to lead to?


The best part is it never has to end,

so long as you don’t want it to.

Just say the word

and I’ll create a world for you,

the world you’ve always wanted.