It has been a long time since I have posted and I do apologize for that. Here is a great story from one of the deepest poets I love to follow.
We all have our own drug of choice; whether it be shopping, coffee, or in my case... the ability to time travel. I used to have a friend who would always spend her time reading when we were kids and I couldn't comprehend why.
One day she told me that she lives in her mind where she can travel to different places and live with those who live and love like she did. I would honestly laugh at her response and occasionally would try to make her feel like some sort of alien.
We were just kids.
How I wish I could travel back to those times and apologize and thank her for leaving such an impact on my beliefs and thoughts now.
Unfortunately not all books give me the ability to get lost within the words and live within that realm, but then again, it doesn't take much for me to get lost ;)
LunasChild8 happens to be one of my favorite poets and her words are always beautiful with some sprinkles of pain. A pain that she always seems to overcome and I love her more for that.
I hope you enjoy this story by LunasChild8 and get lost within her words.
It’s a pleasant walk from work to Olive or Twist
I’ve made an extra effort to clean myself up
My normally frizzy hair has been straightened and I wear a classy black dress
My normally pale face is adorned with the best quality make-up on the market.
As I approach the bar, I subconsciously rub my left hand and wrist
I enter the bar, and am pleased that Douglas recommended us to come here instead of a club
The pleasant ambient allows me to release my pent-up stress
I pat my sides and feel a mixture of relief and trepidation at what’s in my pocket.
I shove away my thoughts and order a drink
A delicious Cosmopolitan will do just the trick
I savor the fruity taste and light punch from the vodka
Soon enough, I’m completely enjoying the vibe.
I notice a dark-haired woman sit across from me. She looks lonely, I think
Her company are an untouched glass of red sangria and a half-burnt cigarette stick
She stands out with her exotic looks, and I guess that she’s Latina
Even though she’s a stranger, I’m curious about her for a reason I can’t even describe.
The low lighting creates a halo around her
Her features are hidden, yet I can see the frown on her face
She takes a puff from her cigarette as she stares blankly at the sangria
A man sitting at table off to the side vainly tries to get her attention.
She looks unhappy, and I wonder if perhaps we’re both similar?
Yet we’re completely different; she carries about her this ethereal sense of grace
I look away and finish my drink, before I order a margarita
The man at the table walks towards her and tries to start a conversation.
The woman says something, and the man backs off disappointedly
Once he’s gone, the woman takes her first sip of the drink
She finally locks eyes with me over the glass
I’m normally shy, yet I couldn’t help but stare back at her.
Her Spanish eyes assess me pointedly
I swallow down the strong alcohol, and will myself not to blink
She stares at my left hand, and in her eyes, I see understanding pass
I flush in embarrassment and anger. How dare she judge me for something him and I ar… were?
Her eyes darken, and she looks away
I will my rapidly beating heart to slow down
Shame twists my insides, yet I roughly force it aside
He was the one who did it first and multiple times. Why can’t I?
I shiver nervously even though it’s a pleasant night of May
I look behind me, and there’s no one that I recognize around
I look at my blank reflection through my glass, complete opposite of the war being waged inside
Spanish eyes stare at me once more, this time in disappointment and I’m left wondering why.
My phone vibrates, and I read the text
“Sorry Julia, going to have to raincheck. I’ll make up for it.”
For some reason, I glance up at Spanish eyes to see her still staring at me
Shockingly, she shakes her head from side to side.
I blink at her as I’m completely perplexed
She takes another sip, and I see the noticeable lines along her wrist
Sympathy warms my heart as I look at the image of what I could be
It didn’t work out for us, but I realize that I can’t go along with this ride.
I reply to Douglas: “Don’t even bother.”
A heavy weight is released from my shoulders
I look back at Spanish eyes and see them shining in approval
She rubs her left hand before finishing the rest of her drink.
She gets up and the small smile she offers me feels like a big honor
She hands me a card as she passes by me towards the door. On it reads: “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
I flip the card over, and can’t help but laugh as I wonder if the universe is cruel
I knew Spanish eyes all along, and her empty glass seemingly winks.