Tag Archives: free write

Fight Your Instincts

You want some advice? Okay, I’ll give it to you.

Never fall in love.

Despite what the movies tell you, what books tell you, what art and music and all of that other shit tells you, never fall in love.

Do you see me? I’m half of what I used to be. The man that I was is nothing compared to the man who I am today. Love will make you better, they say. Bigger. What they mean is that love inflates you, fills you with the air of false promises and disillusion. And when love goes away, all that air escapes. You don’t shrink back to your pre-love size, no. You become crumpled, stretched out, like a condom that’s been used and carelessly thrown away.

She took half of me, maybe more. Some days, it feels like it was all of me.

The day our love ended, it felt like she plunged her hands into my chest and ripped open my ribcage, like some hack-job autopsy. Ribs broken and shattered, shrapnels of bone splintering my veins. One by one, she took my organs. My liver, my spleen, one of my kidneys. I watched helplessly, waiting for her to pull out my heart and end it all. Moments passed and my eyes – as I could not speak – asked her what she was waiting for.

She smiled and shook her head. I’m not taking your heart, she said.

I want you to remember this.

She sewed me up without a single care about the neatness of her stitches. I looked down at my chest, ruined and permanently scarred. She left me my heart so I could remember this. This pain.

So don’t do it. Fight your instincts pal. Don’t fall in love.

Well, I Never…

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Whatever.

I didn’t quite know how to fix us.

Maybe it was because I didn’t know what was broken. How could I go about finding a solution when I didn’t even know what the problem was? The egg had to come before the chicken. Or vice versa. Whatever.

I’d look at you, sitting across from me. Your eyes were turned to whatever Netflix selection we had settled on for the night, but I knew you weren’t really watching. It was hard to do anything in this place that we called home. Our days were tension-filled, moved along by civility and a shared sense of mutual disdain. Or love. Or disappointment. Whatever.

I felt like I should fix us. But I knew that I needed your help. When we would chew on our bacon and make small talk about our days, I wanted to stop you, stop the charade, and tell you that I needed you. I could not do this without you. To plead for you to help me.

I never did though.

Maybe I was selfish? I wanted to be your hero, to save us both from the fall. Instead, I followed you blindly, as you took my hand and walked us closer and closer to the edge. I could have stopped in my tracks, jerked you back towards me and done what I needed to do. What I was too afraid to do. Yea, heroic.

We fell. That night, I lay in bed. You stepped out from the bathroom and paused in the door way. You looked down then up to meet my eyes. You told me you loved me but that wasn’t enough anymore. So you were going to leave. I thought to ask again for your help, although there had never been a first request. I was selfish. I didn’t want your help. I would let my pride destroy the best thing I had.

I fell from that cliff, not bothering to look back to see if you were still standing there. Ambivalence could not be helped. Whatever.

I Am a Rock

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He sighed deeply, surrendering to his exhaustion and sinking further into me — as if he could actually go further. I smiled as he started his usual practice of placing small kisses along my back, from one shoulder to the other. His fingers intertwined with mine, squeezing. Kiss, squeeze, kiss, squeeze. I was drifting off, drifting away.

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Write a post about the topic of your choice — using only one-syllable words.

we were there. here, not there. i love you, you said. i did not say it back. it was too much, the weight of it all. i fell back. as much as i did, i would not say it. i would not give you that. your hand fell from mine. i could not feel your touch. you were there. i was here. we could not go as one.

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Dear You,

My oh my, look at how far we’ve come. Remember the days where we used to be in college, no going to class and finding any reason to lay up in bed, lay up with each other? Occasional trips to the dining hall to grab nourishment and make use of those meal plans, only to wind up back in bed, back with each other. My, how those days seemed to go on and on and on, a big blur until it all stopped.

When I met you, I realized love was real. That love was not just some abstract, intangible thing that I’ve read so many books and poems about. You were love to me, that abstract suddenly embodied in a physical specimen that I could only recall as perfect. Perfect and mine. Yea, love was real man. You made me see that.

And just as you opened my eyes, I realized that they were too open. Love made me vulnerable and you took advantage and where was I to go and who was I to find comfort in when the person I loved, who loved me, would hurt me? When you lied, when you cheated, when you forsake every promise that you had made to be you. You became someone else. You were not you. And it was too late for to me see, that I was no longer me. Love had done me wrong. You had done me wrong.

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The City of…

I moved to Los Angeles for school.

Who could resist going to school in the City of Angels; the city of perpetual sunshine; the city of perpetual droughts; the city of traffic that’s seen as normal and just something you have to accept if you’re going to live in Los Angeles; the city of godly Mexican food; the city that used to be Mexico; the city of beaches; the city of no rain; the city of no weather; the city of blistering summers; the city of fitness; the city of fake fitness if you have a good plastic surgeon; the city of two universities; the city where UCLA is better if you’re smart but USC is where you go if you’re rich; the city of film & television; the city where you might see a celebrity and realize that wow, they don’t look as great as they do on screen; the city of museums; the city of hipsters; the city of skid row; the city of the homeless…

I love this city. Or really, maybe it’s the city where you tell yourself you love it because to say otherwise would be blasphemous.

We Built This City

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Playa del Rey

My locs are filled with sea water and memories of today. A day spent in the sand, building upon what is slowly becoming ‘us.’ Swept under each wave – overwhelmed by emotion – and wondering what the future may hold, but willing to accept the present as it is.

The beach is my favorite place.

It’s a place that molds to your desires, adapts to your thoughts, shifts to bring you closer to what you truly need right here and right now. I can choose to start afresh, choose to continue on from yesterday, or choose to ignore time altogether; to find solace in the repetitive waves, creating the one true sound of nature.
Places

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