I enjoyed the view from the hospitality suite. He stepped beside me and held out a frosty bottle of beer. We stood in silence, sipping the cold brew and drinking in the sight of the Temple of Baseball laid out below. Players in bright white pants and bold red shirts dotted the emerald field in various stages of warm-up. Some stretched, some hit, some threw, some ran. Some merely stood talking, about what I wondered. Game strategy perhaps, or maybe something as simple as what they had planned for their day off – one day in the middle of a long stretch of back to back to back to back games. My eyes darted back and forth from one group of players to another, not settling on one spot for very long before moving again. It was a visual delight.
I breathed the smell of popcorn and hot dogs and beer and fresh cut grass and summer air, a combination unique to a baseball stadium. “It’s a beautiful day. Thank you for inviting me.” I turned to him, meeting his cornflower blue eyes. My stomach flipped at the upturned corners of his plump lips and the apple cheeks that formed when he grinned. His deep southern drawl still melted my heart. “Darlin’, baseball is no longer my favorite pastime.”
We’ve almost reached our destination. We’re on final approach. The flight was unforgettable. Mostly smooth with a few bumps, some unexpected turbulence. But that’s what made it so entertaining. We soared to such heights you and I, on our journey together. But we always knew there would be an end to our story. So, take my hand as we glide back to earth. Take one more look through the clouds at the vast blue sky. Too soon we will alight and become strangers once again.
I feel like my life is a maze and I’m in the middle somewhere with no idea where I am or how to get out.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“My mom is gonna kill me.” Abbie surveyed the damage to the car she had sideswiped while her best friend sat texting.
Without looking up from her phone, Olivia said, “You’re totally right. We should bail.”
“What?!? You’re kidding right?”
“We’re alone. If we leave fast you’re clear. Nobody has to know.”
Abbie scanned the empty street and debated, but the angel on her left shoulder won.
Tucking a note with her name and cell number under the wipers, she saw a good-looking boy exit the house across the street and walk toward her.
Karma isn’t always a bitch.
A huge thanks to Mrs Completely for introducing me to Friday Fictioneers. You should check out her blog. It’s one of my favorites.
Pink is the color of first love.
White is the color of eternal love.
Green is the color of misplaced love
Blue is the color of broken love.
Red is the color of forbidden love.
Gray is the color of lost love
Black is the color of betrayed love.
Purple is the color of violent love.
We met on a bright spring morning. Under the pink blooms of the dogwood trees in the park. I hadn’t wanted him to pursue me. I did everything in my power to discourage him. Still he persisted. And I resisted. For as long as I could, I shut him out, afraid to give him my heart. His charm proved to be unavoidable. I fell hard. When I love, I love completely. But when I lose . . . He loved me back, for a while. It wasn’t long and it wasn’t enough. In the end, I had an empty space where my heart used to be.
We met on a crisp autumn morning. Under the flaming red leaves of the dogwood trees in the park . . .
I love a man who can cook. I was lucky enough to have found a man who could cook and sing. A sexy man with many talents is a dangerous thing.
He was making berry pancakes with cream cheese and berry filling, one of my favorite breakfast dishes. Even if it was almost noon. He moved skillfully around the kitchen, measuring, chopping, adding things to the bowl. He hummed as he went, probably without even realizing it was my favorite song. He’d written it years ago, well before we met. Before life had beaten him down and love had twisted his heart. Back when he was still full of hope and dreams and good intentions. Whenever I heard the lyrics I liked to imagine that man was still somewhere inside of him.
A small sigh escaped my lips as I drank in the sight of him. His short dark hair spiked wildly with no particular sense of direction. The sleeves of his blue and white plaid shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tanned forearms. Calloused fingers moved quickly and as effortlessly as if he was playing the guitar. Long lashes framed bright cornflower blue eyes which I got just a glimpse of every now and then when his head moved just so. His lips were full and when he looked up and saw me staring intently, they curved up at the corners into an impish grin that made my toes curl.
He lifted the spoon from the mixing bowl and carried it over to me, one hand underneath to protect the tile floor from drips. I took a tentative lick and closed my eyes, breathing in deeply. “Oh, my God, that tastes like sin.” He put the spoon to his own lips and I felt the warmth of desire spread through me. He could make even the simple act of licking a spoon sexy as hell. He scrunched his nose and shrugged modestly. “Mmmm. Not bad.”
Moving back to his place behind the kitchen island, I watched him continue. His hands moved quickly and he still hummed softly. I felt butterflies form in my stomach. I was completely and hopelessly in love with him. I wanted to know this wasn’t temporary – this feeling, this thing between us. He’d been burned pretty badly in the past but, hadn’t we all been hurt? We’d said the words, shared the passion. I knew he loved me. I just didn’t know if he loved me forever.
drip from the canvas of my mind
and pool on the surface below,
my life a rainbow
on the sidewalk of my soul.
Sitting alone in the darkness, the silence ringing in her ears, she tasted the bitter pain of loneliness and regret.
She had to learn to shed the armor of perfection. She was her most authentic self when she was vulnerable and flawed and exposed. It was raw and scary and terrifying and brave all at once. It takes a true warrior to wear the beauty of imperfection.
“Tomorrow will be better.” She uttered the words under her breath, a silent mantra she tried so hard to believe.
Emotions in blood stained letters
Spill onto the fresh white page
Breathing secrets unspoken
Hidden truths whispered in words
I had a lengthy, semi-humorous post about Google searches, the word “lifestyle” and condoms. Long story short, my snarky and sarcastic sense of humor does not translate well to the written word. I’ll leave that to the expert humor bloggers. If you don’t follow any, I can recommend a few. After all, everyone needs a little humor in their life. And perhaps tomorrow’s word will better lend itself to my melancholic and angsty style of writing. Life is all about balance. Humor and angst. Yin and yang.
She tried to open her heart and let them in. But she had built the wall deep and tall and strong. And the harder she struggled to break it down the more she feared the pain of rejection. The thing she wanted most was the thing that would destroy her. So she closed herself up and locked them out and continued her solitary journey in silent still loneliness.