《We Walk Across Oceans - POEMS》 I was little then / Younger and wiser I was little then My favorite companions were filled with stuffing and bits of frayed love. I carried them everywhere, tucked them into the corners of my bed to bury the nightmares. The only hands I needed were bigger than mine, soothing the sores and wrapping the aches with white and kiss. I didn¡¯t know about the love others wanted like I loved bare feet in minty grass or the taste of honeysuckle flowers trailing down, kittens perched behind the water jugs, pink noses softer than couch cushions. But I was little then, when my love was captured with the fields of caterpillars If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. and the taste of melting popsicles, flavors brighter than sun. Younger and wiser While my dad was constructing houses out of dreams and stone, I would follow along, plastic tools in hand, determined to build a city out of youth and small yellow nails. The siblings hoisted roofs over the lives of legos, and our economy rivaled ancient Greece and Rome. My bear had sailed the seven seas and wore the suit to prove it. Aliens trailed behind me, filled with stuffing, little green eyes smiling. At night I donned the pirate¡¯s charm and interrogated everyone¡ª tell me about the mutiny. The house was my track, a tractor my chariot. We rode till dawn. Our riches grew with every cup of cool aid, cherries flowing down the sugary river of red. And although I didn¡¯t know the letters that arched into words of stories and legend, I cracked Nintendo games like walnuts, breaking the shell to unearth the flavor of wisdom. Playground wars / Kicking cooties Playground wars My captains were all blonde, eager to conquer the rails and bars like valkyries in tennis shoes. The boys would swarm, giving chase, eager to send wood chips flying like bullets, pushing us down or forward, more intent on the motion than the conquest¡ª run like you can lap time, stretch recess into tomorrow. Sometimes we staged a coupe, allowing a boy into the ranks, switching sides like kids on the seesaw, birds flying in a v toward the metal Stolen story; please report. rays of a playground sun. We ran and ran and ran Kicking cooties Sailing the elementary seas, I faced the freckled girls, long-limbed sirens blaring like fog horns, scattering reason and thought. Other girls orbited a different sun, hands busy constructing ideas and hobbies I¡¯d never heard of, could care less of. Cruel girls, fierce girls. Indifferent girls. Girls who played kickball in the same painted confines as me. And when my turn comes to send the ball skyward, the others crowd in like fans cooing at their pet star¡ªget in close enough to steal confidence and air. He¡¯ll fold again. But one day I rear like the ancient knights on flaming horses and slam the ball into the future. Not even the girls could bring that shooting star down. Treasure recycled / Sixth-grade style Treasure recycled Dig into the recent past with me and find a cache of inventor¡¯s dreams. We readjust the creative waves and sift through the boxes of wealth hidden in plain view at the back of the parking lot, back of the elementary school, boxes someone dared to label recycle¡ª waste of space. We fit into those spaces like best friends do, more snug than our shoulders around each other like the Golden bridge spanning oceans and our dancing ideas¡ªadd the final touches to the gumball machine, tighten the gears and flip through the blueprints to our trio. Forget your crisp fears of fire drills, muse on the treasures we looted like ancient libraries, ours for the taking on the tail end You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. of summers like this. Sixth-grade style Your distaste dictates the weather, flaming gray clouds like the coattails of some other kind of storm. Turn other heads¡ªmine is throwing down the foundations of outer space, racing the strings of comets with fleets of rockets and ships. But you remember that one time? I was loitering on the grounds, surrounded by the shadows of gym plastic, gray and stern like stop signs when it happened. I was wearing that new hat, the nice one fresh from the trucks and trains, new tags hanging off it like streamers in a parade when it happened. And that¡¯s when you noted casually the flight of strange birds, black and white like chess pieces, rocketing down like man eager to conquer the moon, sights set on the hat, the nice one, the new one. And like a stage man at the close, I swept the hat off my head, holding it above me like the sun as I bowed toward the grass. And although you¡¯d never put words to the soccer ball incident, I saw the way your eyes lit up, eyebrows raised like train crossings. Style that shocked us both like light-struck night bugs. Finding ships / Swing society Finding ships Find a submarine, leave a mark. Find a carrier, make me laugh. The pieces are slightly damp like our swim towels, reminding us of the sea that spawned the game of battling ships. Uncover the box after lunch, when we¡¯re all bunched around the picnic table like curtains pulled back to let in the beams of mid afternoon. Share your carrot sticks and I¡¯ll give you my milk carton¡ªwe sink boats with gusto, like immortal pirates resurrecting ships from a plastic grave. Every part of me aches with lessons If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. learned in how to stay afloat in the deep blue of the community pool. Every move I make is practiced, intentional¡ªI knew I¡¯d find your ship! And when my own vessels eat the red, I salute them like a captain before the board is reset and we all set sail once more. Swing society Step up, turn and slide, kick your legs like astronauts do in weight of lighter gravity, and swing. Face captured by the clinging clouds, then facing the sand sprinkled like chef salt. Pump your legs like pistons, a machine chasing behind the natural way of things. Grab a steed and ride with me, into the blue like silver-finned fish, conversations that keep time with the steady pump of the thick, linked chains, a beating heart. My friends ride alongside me, churning up wind like cowboys churn up dust. And the new kids? They gallop too, a confident rhythm we all swing to, trying to touch the skies. Puppy-dog luck / Man of the earth Puppy-dog luck He was the boy who followed, as consistent as bed time, as smart as well-tied laces¡ªI did them myself. As certain as my shadow, keeping time with my latest scheme and excitement. I don¡¯t remember much until later, when I finger the old photographs in a first-grade scrapbook and notice the boy, his head perched on my shoulder like an owl. He sketched his best impression of Godzilla too, hoping to get his depiction of the immortal If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. school mascot on that year¡¯s shirt. That shirt hangs in my closet now, our two green Goliaths smiling through a mouth full of inky teeth. A little Michelangelo, painting the school with dogged persistence and puppy-dog luck. Man of the earth Give a boy a shovel and give him a noble quest, a reason to become one with the earth and claim the dirt¡¯s simple beauties. I was determined, empowered, focused, precise. I was a boy with a shovel, digging the birth of a garden, the home of things that grow up. I was a boy with a man¡¯s shovel, burrowing down to outer space when she showed up, nameless, blurred like a bad polaroid shot, walking down the street with a friend. But I was just a miner, an archeologist, until the friend crossed the boundary of the sidewalk to giggle and deliver ¡ªmy friend thinks you¡¯re cute. Who knew love at first sight was watching a boy dig a hole in the ground. Write it all / Anywhere but here Write it all Sleuthing like Sherlock¡¯s inquisitive daughter, I write it all, every moment captured on paper, scribbled in script even I can barely decipher, the secrets of second grade noted on lined paper I shelve with my illustrated stories of bunnies plunging into the pages of fantasy like Indiana. The pink eraser, avid reader, playground wars and campaigns, recorded like prescriptions in my doctor¡¯s scrawl. I was too busy living in the white pages to chase the victors or underdogs, but they run still a decade later, chasing the spiral binding like the cycles of the moon. And even when the notebook is crammed to bursting and I¡¯ve grown out of elementary school and snuck into a town a state or two away, my mind still writes it all¡ªthe kid who mocked my sneakers and laughed at the dragons that burned like stars in the foreground of my drawings. He frowned at the spread wings and clever claws, but still found a way to my seat on the bus, looking triumphantly miserable, and even then, I wrote it all¡ª Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Anywhere but here I would imagine, skip town and catch an imagination box like an avid hitchhiker¡ªliterally anywhere but here will do. I put Patrick¡¯s antics to shame. Have you ever pulled your spaceship into the school parking lot, the rest of the armada laid out over the recess lawn like a picnic spread? My dreams were populated with fleets of flying tin cans, flame roaring like Harleys, metal shined like newly minted coin. You, yes you, ma¡¯am, come aboard. Climb aboard the helicopter, stick your head out the window of the train, prepare yourself for gravity¡¯s vacation. Any vehicle to whisk us away to better places far from this concrete jungle other kids haunt. How many times will I traverse the globe, how many other planets will I gawk at before I win your attention? Even without your runaway hair and batting eyes, the world and her backyard call to me¡ª Paper airplane decrees / If at first no one succeeds Paper airplane decrees Fold it up tightly, say goodbye with a wave and a salute. The airways are busy with our old-school traffic. The phone is vibrating off the hook, but my hands prefer the familiar folds of college-lined paper, ready to fly across classrooms to your backpack¡¯s waiting pocket. How many stick people does it take to make up a small paper town, parading around our eager hands? Pen pals, doodle dudes, form friends. Write with ink so the letters outlast the next four years of education, the switching and swapping of friends like cheerleader fashion. Will we talk on the other side? Our stick figures will stick around, nestled inside the leafy clouds. Another letter, Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. the envelope tattooed like the walls of Buenos Aires with sketch and flair. The substance rolls off the mind, but the colors stretch into tomorrow ¡ªdon¡¯t forget to write back! They all thought it was the war flags of love, but we laughed and signed our names before sending them into the metal collecting tin. If at first no one succeeds You all know the one, the girl who attracts thunder with her lightning strikes. The girl who trails behind the guy more interested in his shoes than the female population, eager to be nothing more than a name in the yearbook¡ª comfortably unnoticed. But the others pressed in, trampling the lockers and lunch trays like bulls, all madly fighting against the lure of the red flag. But just because the others couldn¡¯t climb the tower didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t try everything else¡ªtake that one shirt from the closet, the one with the robot disguised as a dog. She¡¯ll cave to such stark cuteness. Unleash the arsenal¡ª take note of the worlds I built with plastic blocks, the robots that fill the streets like trees. But she could have been anyone¡ª thunder will follow any burst of lightning. For life / The actors guild For life He was your man, a lanky kid with Old English sheepherder hair, black like the color of night when we all piled on the bus for another race. But no one could steal you from being my confidant, prankster. At first he was skittish like a colt, all legs and arms trying to grow into an Arabian stallion, black hair flying. But three friends can only play so many rounds of Nertz before the conversation opens like flood gates, laughter trailing behind our sentences like punctation. We ran in groups of three¡ªand I never had to reinvent the wheel. But it didn¡¯t settle in between my lungs in the fleshy pink box we call a heart until we went on a walk, just the two of us¡ª the boyfriend and the girlfriend¡¯s friend. Swagger replaced with raw truth and honesty as ripe and rare as huckleberries. I saw it in your eyes, the fear that no friendship Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. withstands the rapids and flash floods of brutal time. But when I said friends for life, I meant it. Mean it. The actors guild Cliches and cliques, clinking glasses like old lovers. Biceps bulging on the dudes who could only speak with sentences that ended in ball. Football, baseball, soccer ball, tennis ball, how I loathed them all. The chicks would chatter by the feed, painted fingernails like claws, eyeing the preening roosters. The church kids wearing the buttons off guitar hero¡ª nothing heroic about hitting preprogrammed notes to songs with no soul. Nerds who preached the mantras of Newton but who had never bothered to eat an apple. How cliche, grouping together in an epic ballad to accomplish the most impressive nothing. We were the misfits, an actors guild who played the parts cast aside and left over like last year¡¯s Halloween fare. I would chat tech with the would-be programmer while our resident hippy spouted rainbows and peace signs like the high school water fountain after gym class. The other two were chemists, scientists, daredevil chefs concocting the next nuclear weapon. One kid to mix, one to drink, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sometimes the guild would move as one, shifting from the tables to the books, erupting in laugher as Myth and Magic proclaimed its wares. Be sure to leave the actor crest on the library computers ¡ªthirty flying toasters proudly taking impossible flight. Seas of mud / New love, true love Seas of mud Lost a shoe in the shuffle back there, that¡¯s what they told me. All I can do is double knot with stiff fingers and quick prayers and trust in the metal holding me to earth that we run instead of slide like skaters soaring through brown ice. The guys lope like gentlemen, silent companions as I enter the shadows of the valley where beer bottles loiter like the drunk in the bushes and creases of the trees. Look straight ahead, my legs marching like a part of the band, listening to the silent beat, synchronized runners running from the sins of older men, women. Bus leaves at dawn, before the sun has bothered to duck out of bed. Grab a pillow or a friend and snooze before the race rises in fiery splendor. The way back is nothing This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. but wind, familiar scent of sweat, friendship songs like the Irish back in Dublin. Hill day strips us all of pride, the muscles of the body beating like a heart, inching up and down the land like caterpillars. Ride the rush of freshly mowed green like a rollercoaster in reverse¡ª rush the ups, coast the downs. We chat through slits of breath, just two bodies following the mold of the earth, rising and falling like inevitable tides. New love, true love My new love was sleek as Teslas, smart as a California tux or the math teacher I slept through. Her glow was a nightlight, a haze of blurred stars in my living room ¡ªmy vivacious xbox, wires curled just so, her mind racing a million miles a minute. These were the glory days of Halo, circling the rings, finger on the trigger as we chatted through the headphone waves to people countries and continents apart. We engaged in negotiations, idle chit chat, jumped-started friendships and smack talked with the best of them. And when the game stretched into the view of your parents and we had to hit the neighborhood streets to stretch our legs, we mounted ripsticks like spaceships and ran the cul-de-sac ring, mouths pumping faster than our legs as we discussed strategy, two army generals in t-shirts and shorts. Book youll never read / Galaxies away Book you¡¯ll never read We lived and breathed fantasy. You were a novel character come to life, just as cocky, sharing the same flaws, same eyes. Same flair for the dramatic, villian-become-hero. And then we¡¯re face to face at some dance and the pen in my hand can¡¯t help but write frantically, penning the story before we enact the scenes, like Hollywood lovers putting on a show. I can balance director with actor. And the stories we would tell¡­ we put Swift to shame. Long distance only made the dreams wider, wilder, until they filled the expanse of sky, hung bright like stars, heavy as storm clouds. Sending messages over the phone like Romeo throwing rocks at Juliet. Too bad in person we were never more Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. than fashionable strangers. But this is a book you¡¯ll never read, a book I¡¯ll never write. Galaxies away My girlfriend lived three galaxies down, between a sun and a field of black holes. While other lovers charted great heists to borrow the car¡ª steal away to the soda shop ¡ªI was transported to vistas as vast as Middle-earth, skies as black and young as space. Let¡¯s get married on the back of a spaceship skimming the clouds like cream, gently plowing the snow of the sky. None of the girls I knew had dreams like me, had enough vision to see beyond the past and lingering present¡ªwhat do you want to do on Earth? I could have grown into a permanent fixture in the yard, tangled in vines and uncertainty, waiting for any other voice to respond. But my girlfriend talks ideas like sailors talk ocean and ocean talks waves, crashing over me. Together we¡¯ll remove the mask, face the human condition and give it wings. A world that doesn¡¯t worry about something trivial as hunger. After Argentina / Ship building After Argentina Rush the plane and land in the middle of the many doing what they¡¯ve done while you¡¯ve been away. Mothers rush me like cold showers, setting me up on more dates than casual weekdays. Stops by the giros, dollops of frozen yogurt and the salty pop of movie theater corn. Miniature golf, knocking the ball into the streams and wilds. The man who admired his own words like women admire fast cars. A new face daily, all eager for something sweet and dependent, like a rose devoid of thorns, a puppy frantic for affection. Independence breeds independence it seems. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The first summer back was one of celebration¡ª big white weddings and fairy lights, strung above my head like a taunt, dare. Pictures I struggled to smile through. Give me the dirt roads of rural Buenos Aires. Give me the chickens and rough-and-tumble children. Give me the street dogs and gust of golden wrappers. Dame la vida sencillo, far from the happiness I watched like movies. Ship building Noah¡¯s ark was a lonely affair. Just the man and his boards, splinters and hammers no one else would lift. Not building with confidence, but faith, stubborn faith that nailed the ocean coffin and set it swirling into the wails of wild sea, hoping to reach a new world, fearing to find the old one. New people, not the old. And, yes, I could have lingered with the natives and tried to read the clear skies as hope, but the emptiness drove me to blueprints and plans, future places and people to fill them. The one I seek is on the sea, sailing the same waves as me. Dazzle of dances / Skipper school Dazzle of dances The floors and fears I used to entertain are now my playground. Watch me spin and dip, smile brighter than Mom¡¯s new china. My partner and I compete like tigers, stripes dazzling the carefully watching forest and fields. Almost every Tuesday you¡¯ll find me there, flying to country swing, moving my hips like Latinos do¡ªIt¡¯s all in the knees. Maybe I¡¯ll find him here, maybe the next partner who moves in time with me, teeth gleaming, hair shining. I dance like others breathe, taking courage from the bass sauntering through the tiles underfoot, Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. trembling like the world before a major earthquake. Three, four, dip. Swing me right, rip me back in like a yoyo. Behind, in front. One two three four, jump, drop with force like a bullet. The dazzle of dance dulls the damage of the dreary, hoping for a love that lasts longer than three minutes. Skipper school Shipshape, if only the boards stopped inviting water through for a drink and a leisurely chat. If only the windows would open enough to let the sun¡¯s reflection through. If only the sails didn¡¯t tear at every breath of wind. Pound the hammer again, straighten nails sharper than cruel tongues. Rip the board again, fasten the floors tighter than the cracks between doors and doorways. Captain to one, one helm gently spinning, one chair cold and open. Comfort in redundancy. But my heart argues with the mind¡ªthe Captain makes the voyage. The Captain fears the voyage. The Captain voyages through fears. Looking for you. In the night hush / Celestial navigation In the night hush Knees drop again, in the vulnerable night when the others have left for that show and the apartment leans into the shadows like butter melting into bread. It¡¯s me again. Did you miss me? I¡¯m sure you have the plea memorized by now. I deliver it every day like flowers to a grave, hoping against hope that they¡¯ll bloom this time, take root and break through the stone and ceremony, take back the land with hope instead of dying things. Do you hear me? Do I even believe me anymore? How many prayers does it take to find him? If my heart falters, bows its head, If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. goes to wipe at phantom tears, will the prayer fall through like rain breaking through clouds? If it hurts, will it stop? Knees drop again. It¡¯s me, God. It¡¯s me. Celestial navigation Dead reckoning¡ªI¡¯m pushing aside stars and systems looking for you. Reading the constellations like maps¡ªthe Big Bear sips from the Dipper¡¯s warm cup, cowering in the face of Orion¡¯s milky club. You have to be up there, because down here is too hard to bear. Celestial navigation should point me to the stars. I¡¯ve been looking for signs so long that the light they spotted grows fuzzy¡ª how hard is it to look the stars straight on, face to face, gleam to glimmer? So intent on the charts you miss the journey. Blind me if you have to, I¡¯m not coming down without the north star. Waypoints / Message in a bottle Waypoints Waypoints like breadcrumbs, winding through the forests. String like spiderwebs, crossing the labyrinth, something I can tug on when the Minotaur rears his ugly pride. Modern-day dating, like attending the boxing match, only to find the gloves sheathed over your hands like shields. Front and center in the ring. The others don¡¯t fight fair, knives sharpened, fingernails dug into their prey like coifed wolves, perfect white fangs gleaming. Steal a moment with a man¡ª tossing the frisbee or grabbing ice cream or baking Brazilian French toast¡ª and face their wrath. Homer¡¯s mermaids This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. would have fled the scene. Leave me just enough light to see by. Don¡¯t leave your post by the lighthouse. The sea writhes with lovesick dreamers, and I only seek the peace of shallow waters, friends, not lovers. Enough waypoints and I¡¯m churning deep water. If I have to swim the whole ocean, I will¡ª Message in a bottle Walking by the beach, picking up bottles, hoping one will contain my name. Feet sinking into the sand as my heart settles like stones to the ocean floor. The sun was young when I began leaving footprints along the shore like helicopter seeds spread from the sighs of the old ash. Beach towels fill the coast, pinks and oranges as far as the sky is high, girls chatting with friends, girls reading a novel under sun umbrellas, girls tapping away at phones, girls snoozing in the heat. I¡¯m tripping over girls like cracks in the sidewalk, eyes at sea, watching the bobbing messages just waiting for someone to break them open. On a beach an ocean away you walk, eyes to the sea, looking for me. Europes jubilation / Danger at the docks Europe¡¯s jubilation Give my heart a break. Leave them, leave the country like a girl on a mission, like the old poets who escaped to their friends¡¯ backyards. Give me a taste of London, African flavors and European musicals raging in technicolor like a dance revolution. Fall in love with every stone, every step carved into the mighty UK mountains. Who knew trains scaled these heights, billowed through the frosty mist like coal-driven specters. Swoon at the white giants of Dover, stare at castle moats filled with waves of grass and moss. The queen¡¯s jewels cascade like waterfalls¡ªa girl¡¯s best friend. I could get used to the company here. A spread of novels I rush through like dances, You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. entering and exiting worlds where beloveds exalt in the wild flowers of love given and received. Every thing firm as sheep eating through the landscape, slowly cutting to the heart of Europe. To the heart of my glorious escape into the problems of another people, another time. Danger at the docks Leave the keys in the ignition. Leave the door open, I¡¯ll drive her home. Bought the spaceship today, carpe diemed like the best of them. She rides like a jungle cat, hugs the ground like a twister. Don¡¯t bother with the seatbelt¡ªthe car will reach out, hand it to you. Hours after work and I¡¯m still cruising the streets like a street gang¡ª nothing to do but drive here. Cruise. Break 150, leave the corporate life in the dust, the twin-sized office. The building that houses the strays, refugees, men and women waving to their spouse like an afterthought after the sun has rolled over in bed. Drive fast enough to leave it all behind, just another new year¡¯s resolution we make but don¡¯t mean. When will we all race to a world where the champion, heavy-hitter loneliness, falls to the unity of you sitting in the seat next to me, hair blowing out the window, hand in hand as we build a future from the same view. Another wedding / Any adventure Another wedding Should get payed for it, impromptu wedding planner. Even from Spain I arrange the white jubilation. Caught the plane and stepped into another mosh pit of photographs and bridesmaids. I roll up my sleeves and shoulder the familiar plunge of my stomach. So happy for you, so happy for her. So happy to save my special day for next year, next decade, next life. It¡¯ll be more special then, a world-wide affair. I almost don¡¯t care. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. But as the cake is cut I feel the slice¡ª another wedding is pulling into town like it stole it, warrants already printed, wanted signs posted. Whose? Who knows. Any adventure The misery along the coast is contagious, the seas of people lounging under the same umbrella, sipping the same drink as they flip the next page of the same novel¡ªAmazon recommends. So off I go, without a salute, into the deep blue in search of you. The world¡¯s widest roads, fastest cars pale to the speed of my mind. Adventure gnaws at my bones like a dog, begs to go on a walk, not come back. The grains of sand shift slow and deep, a lifetime to move an inch, a foot. The wilderness of the ocean is rough, the waves dancing and plunging, carrying me with it like the strange hand of fate. Across breakfast / Last place you look Across breakfast Look what the breeze blew in, bacon cooling as you steal a seat by my side with a casual smile I swear I¡¯ve mirrored before, caused before. I¡¯ve looked for you with reckless abandon, but my heart refuses to dance, pirouetting like that guy who won the lottery. Refuses to sing like the redhead under the sea, pining for foreign romance above her swirling hair¡ªeverything pulls toward the world above. She didn¡¯t say the man I¡¯d fall for was dropping in. And I wasn¡¯t falling. This felt more like cautious soaring, the moment before the coaster Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! drops. Last place you look Broken hearts are still quite adept at persisting, just ask my ticker. He persisted like the clouds haunting Washington, the rain pelting Missouri, the heat slow-cooking Arizona. Broken hearts are still quite adept at digging. At this point the holes are the treasure¡ªnever mind the riches, dust within. Dig another. I never had a map, just a duty, the insistence of the dating ritual, as ancient as the birth of fire. Work through the grit, shovel in hand, I¡¯ll pick you up at seven. Don¡¯t bother filling in the holes¡ª this feeling of emptiness suits me just fine. And when she set up the meeting, the breakfast, I suited up in my best shirt, jeans, hair fresh as my shave. Just another hole before work. Broken hearts are still quite adept at hoping, despite my best efforts. Single, not lonely / Worn down, not desperate Single, not lonely I guide the first-years maybe fifty miles away from you, in a pastoral painting of peaks and model pines. Others brought their spouse, hanging off each other like tied laces. I prefer sandals. But the kicking of my heart is cool, calm as naps with novels. You were away, just another face to recognize, another name to forget. But these couples can¡¯t derail the trains I send off, eyes closed, waiting for the truth to hit like tons of metal and steel. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. My man is away, isn¡¯t even mine, but has filled the holes riddled through my heart as though the crumbling ruins I hide inside were always royal, a Scottish castle pictured in those childhood fancies that always end the same¡ª happily ever after. Worn down, not desperate One last kick in the jaw, bloodied and squinting, spitting out a tooth and my lion pride. The task prowls, smells blood, smiles like a sliver moon. The task circles like vultures, cawing in triumph in a tune that smells of failure¡ªnaked, sweat-streaked, wide-eyed failure. Sink or swim¡ªand I can¡¯t stomach another cup of salt, can¡¯t cry another glass. Run aground, the ship eating the shore like a funeral, train wreck. You won¡¯t see this, I might not see you again, I might not leave the hole, might not¡­ Without the gleam and glitter / Sun slowly rises Without the gleam and glitter No more saving face, painting the eyeshadow glimmer like sunset. I¡¯ve had so many conversations with you in my dreams that chatting now feels surreal, catching up with an old friend from another world, another life. We sculpt words into masterpieces, puzzle pieces fitting into my gaps, laughter sweeter than ocean breeze. Drop the mask and make room on the couch for two friends reuniting like waves hugging the coast, If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. refusing the pull back into the deep. Sun slowly rises I¡¯ve scrutinized the stars, measuring their gleam and glow, when they flicker and when they remain, searching for the brightest pearl in the night¡¯s tapestry. But when you walk in, face and pride bare like a new page in my book, I see more than stars. All that time wasted on pinpoints when the sun was lifting her fiery head ¡ªyou blaze and burn up this close, drowning out the stars in total splendor. I¡¯m in love with the very sun. We race the clock for time. I¡¯ve never had more to say than hours. The substance of the conversation rolls off my back now, but the beams from the light last¡ª it¡¯s been a long time, old friend. Walking the apple trails / No will to live alone Walking the apple trails Painful to contain the giddy sugar rush of new love, uncertain love, love that walks side by side but does not reach out for your hand, reaches uncertainly for your heart. Walking the apple trails like a twenty-first century Adam and Eve, surrounded by fruit but focused on the sweet taste of silence as we stroll like Elizabeth and Darcy. Even the deer pause to watch our quiet steps, in harmony Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. with the sleepy flight of bumblebees in the tail end of summer, yellow flowers drinking in the sun¡¯s shadows. Keep walking by my side past the end of the trail, to the other side of this cautiously spinning globe. Catch my hand if gravity catches me by surprise. No will to live alone Hated the car when its price tag yanked me from you. Hated the job when it churned like butter, so many hours blending together. Hated the goodbyes when they meant breaking away from your arms. Hated the money when it tried to tear my gaze away from you. Hated the glory of physical things, awards that declared me the sole ruler, solitary in my revel. Hated the lonely storms that raged when it came time to say goodnight. Hated the simple texts when all I wanted was to talk to you. Hated the prison that kept me safe. Loved the girl who dropped anchor in my port and proclaimed a dream to stay there a lifetime or two. You said my team / Hallelujah You said my team Caught me off guard, vulnerable, the sudden declaration a war cry, white flag flying, dropping the gate and shouldering the shield. Shy lovers, until you spoke the words like sweetheart vows ¡ªyour team. I am on your team. My team when I dash away from phantom fears and phobias, dreams that breathe in the day. My team when I sing loud enough to crash through the walls, disturb all the neighbors with my passionate solos, dramatic duets. My team when I curl up A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. in the cushions, caught in the floods of cruel colds. My team when I lull in the arms of sleep, carried up three flights like a coat draped over your shoulders. My team as I blush, emotion discovered mid-flight, seeking refuge, running into you like ceremonial ribbons, freshly cut. Hallelujah David was a fool to sing a stolen song of the divines, pining after another man¡¯s woman, a stolen fling proclaimed romance, self-proclaimed divinity. David was a fool to claim hallelujah. Hallelujah crushes like ocean weight with every goodbye¡ª we lie through our teeth. There is nothing good about missing you. About bye. Hallelujah rushes like the whisper of deer flying through the trees¡ª I can¡¯t wait to marry you. Other couples sing hallelujah over dinner, at the concert hall between acts, taming the wild wilderness of love until it kneels. Hallelujah is the silent death of alone, the brash declaration of choice. You leave me no choice¡ª Hallelujah. Quart of honey / All the things Quart of honey Sweeter than the quart of honey, our loot after meandering the market stalls, breathing in the cleansing spirit of fall. Sweet when we picnicked in the park, watching the reflections of ducks. Sweet when we hiked the mountain to the light of the distant suns, searching for the peak. Sweet when I kissed your cheek, fragile as a butterfly, unexpected as rain in sunshine. Sweet when you held my hand, The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. familiar as a dog-eared book I can recite word for word. Sweeter than the bee sting of the many years I dreamed of this fall with you. All the things It was all the same thing, one thing. Holding hands. Walking the sidewalks, trails, mountains or streams. Catching each other after class. All one thing. We could have been shoveling dirt, as long as we shoveled together, wafts of earth like fairy dust in my eyes, rocks like diamonds, holes like treasure hunts. The cuddles were sweet, the words gentle, the moments tender, but it all pales like the dead when I realize it¡¯s you. The girl I missed until I found all the things in the blinding light of our simple, homegrown love. Soul racer / Death of wasted time Soul racer Tearing a new scar in the land as we cruise, burning through time like exhaust, eager to reach the white doors and days. Sometimes the car drives itself, shifting gears and lanes as our souls speed, breaking limits left and right. You let me drive a time or two, my timid beginning eclipsed by the freedom of the road, the freedom of being myself with you. My heart drives past construction three year¡¯s old, revs through the tangled, broken streets of some sad, ugly part of town, and sets a course for you. Hands on the wheel, Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. eyes on the road, mind on you like headlights coursing through tunnels, opening on radiance that frightens, excites, inspires like God. Death of wasted time The act of traveling with you, not just the act of arriving. Let¡¯s drive awhile, get lost in the range clawing the sky, peaks we only notice when we look up and through the glass and grit. Hold my hand as the car holds the road like a lover, taking twists and turns like a professional dancer, diver. Let¡¯s go there, searching for pinecones in the early snow of October at the feet of the mountains. We found it all good, a relationship created on travel¡ªwe¡¯re going places. Moving forward like the steady streams of water, breaking through dams. Moving upward like the steady flight of butterflies, crossing the world. Nothing to wait for, everything to find, walking the oceans with you. The mountains whistled yes / Parlay The mountains whistled yes The stones sang your praises, the very mountains smiled, letting in the dropping sun and inviting a spread of tangled lights that scream celestial presence. Night filled with beauty, tinged with light even in the absence of shadow and beams. At my back the ethereal stone queens and kings ushering in the next coronation, acknowledging a new ruler in me, a new ruler in you. Crowning my head, the very cosmos gathers like fireflies. And at my feet the network of city lanterns, like a million boats in a silent sea, gently rocking back and forth from the gentle power of your question, the gentle force of my answer. Three witnesses to hear my oath. Stolen novel; please report. Yes. Always yes. Parlay Set the mechanics, secrets I¡¯ve never gotten away with since. We both knew it was coming. I had gone spelunking into the cave inside of me, searching for writing on the walls, directions or glyphs. Prayers offered like paper lanterns into the dark, but they come back down to earth, brighter but still little more than floating paper. What do you want to do? And the answer is obvious as running stoplights, obvious as piecing together the jigsaw of me and you. And then it¡¯s all about the mechanics of it. You planned the perfect setting, a hike into the woods catching fire with the lure of autumn, columns of your favorite hues of yellow. And when fall came early and the hike was set, I didn¡¯t mind the early spring. No time to let the grass grow under my feet. Excitement, balanced by the surreal weight of asking for a million, trillion years of yes. More weighty than the car. The job. The dates and dinners and dreams of a younger me. More weighty than the degree. None of it commitment like asking for you to love me for me. And when I drop to my knees like a sinner starved for light, your answer beams brighter than I dared to hope. Such rolling happiness beating over me like waves, drenching me in the realization that I am marrying you. Fianc茅 fancies / Calm before the storm Fianc¨¦ fancies Content to drop the glancing titles of boyfriend, girlfriend overboard, sending them out to sea like wooden boxes without names. Deep graves for shallow ties. But trips and travels can¡¯t camouflage the pain of waiting for land to form, the seas to dry, the dusk to rise to precious dawn. The plants to rear their heads through the earth, the birds to fly. Creation¡¯s beauty slow to unfurl, Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. a caterpillar lost in home, destined to soar. Nothing left to do but wait for the creation of one¡ªone heart, one home, one soul. Calm before the storm Fish out of water, a child crawling across the living room expanse, looking for something. Waiting to cash my check, pacing the diner, disheveled mind muttering to itself. Placed the order with you, now I can¡¯t stop checking the tracking number, a jumble of letters and numbers that all spell marriage. Shipping that takes months, accidentally flies through Cairo, touring the pyramids in the swelter of desert heat, Mexico, frolicking on sand the texture of syrup, and the tip of Africa. This fish is done with climbing trees. White knight / Royal white White knight I¡¯ve been secretly partial to the realms of knights and dragons. Forget the princess¡ª I¡¯ve never been anything but another knight, army counselor as confident as my name, riding dragons instead of driving in the sword. Raise your visor to meet my gaze, two warriors walking the cherry blossom forests leading to the columns and towers of stone, a castle built into the very mountains, humming with all the medieval magic of this lost age. Stolen story; please report. Our bond is stronger than the blacksmith¡¯s hammer, the sword¡¯s pummel, king¡¯s iron crown, queen¡¯s emerald gems. Stride across the drawbridge with me¡ª the queen and king are waiting. Royal white I didn¡¯t know the color white burned like the color of sun, shined like the brassy reflection of a knight¡¯s shield. Come, my queen, to the coronation. Shoulder the crown like a sword, head lifted like land to rain. King and queen of this royal occasion, bowing to the kingdom¡¯s finest. Other kings and queens with dominions distant and near acknowledge our arrival, but I¡¯m eager to cross the swells, drop the sails, catch on the coattails of joy. Home coming / Calm seas Home coming Dropped in the expansive lands of untilled fields, weathered weeds devouring the calmer greenery. Oceans teeming with fierce fins, the screech of birds overhead. Trunks that tower like volcanos, spurting red and yellow leaves like a flaming halo. Rocks the size of clouds, tigers and lambs on the hunt for drowsy copses. Fashion the tools from the earth, Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. cull food from the bounty of wilderness. Burn exotic foliage, lighting beaming like a lighthouse. Kingdom untamed¡ª welcome to the place the future will call home. Calm seas Dwelling on the eye of the storm, like a pin poised on a spinning top. Encircled by the rush and rage of heaven beating the ocean to splinters. Nose the ship into the mouth of the leviathan¡ªwe can¡¯t spin in the silence of the eye forever. Tie yourself to the mast if ups become downs and thunder pounds your skull, lightning seizes your sight. The world is in motion, the ocean a seafaring vessel, the waters sails and anchors. Tie yourself to me when the sea trials plummet through our open hands. Hold on tight to me. Dont wish me goodnight / Seaworthy Don¡¯t wish me goodnight The blanket of night lays humid, hemmed with jewels. A sky I¡¯ll never admire alone again. Couldn¡¯t sleep, the rocking chair of waves too sweet a lull, betraying the deep¡¯s ever-shifting mood. But tonight the sky is carpeted in lazy wonder, galaxies unfurling like wings, shifting winds. You sit in the sky with me, one hand absentmindedly curling and uncurling a nebula. Stars march across my face like freckles, casting a warm glow way up here, The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. where no one ever says goodnight. Seaworthy Why catch a ride without the drop, why sail a sea without the storm. Don¡¯t haul the ship to land, coffined in the docks or chained to the floor, anchor rusting. The tempest hits hard and fast, coughing air from your lungs, and the gales and gusts squall, knocking you to your knees in an act like prayer. But those same manic winds fill our sails with unbroken force, delivering us from the dull throb of an ark robbed of life. Follow the ride down into the depths, laughing from the sheer ache of living. On holiday / Dual helms On holiday Forecast says rain all week, scattered-brained thunderstorms and chance of silky lightning. Farmers are rejoicing, caught in the middle of a rain dance, models are bending their straighteners in fury, school kids are walking the sidewalks, backpacks draped over their heads like parasols. I didn¡¯t come all this way to watch the sky cry. Open the doors, toss the umbrella like a parachute into the cotton clouds. Join me¡ªno time to waste shoveling aside storm, looking for sun. Learn to love the feel of rain. Dual helms You don¡¯t need to share shadows, meals, hobbies, careers, money, babies, games, This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. walks, friends, dreams, fears, straws, blankets, thoughts, sights, words, joy, cereal, trips, photographs, smiles, sobs, pain, umbrellas, the bed, your hand, true freedom. But I remember the years when it all gaped like a cellar door, begging to be filled with light, another flashlight breaking the lonely dark of down there. I need to share shadows, meals, hobbies, careers, money, babies, games, walks, friends, dreams, fears, straws, blankets, thoughts, sights, words, joy, cereal, trips, photographs, smiles, sobs, pain, umbrellas, the bed, your hand, true freedom. I do. Walk me to school like lovers do / In need of a crew Walk me to school like lovers do Before the world succumbs to the cold, gasping for air, standing six feet apart like imported trees dumping carbon dioxide in a strange dice roll, all zeros. Walk me to school like lovers do. Lost in your eyes, not the blinking news feeds. Tucking my hand in your jacket pocket, not reaching for a mask, clever disguise. Walk me to a place with tables and chairs, If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. people chatting over bagels, sipping hot chocolate on barstools, balancing a phone and baby in the food line. A world of simple pleasures¡ª smiles, hugs, and this early morning walk. In need of a crew For seven months you were a boy, kicking out with feet eager to run¡ª sailing the seas sinks into shallow shoals without a crew to man the deck. But when the pictures came back pink and rose-colored, we flipped the room and prepared for the arrival of a princess. You came out blonde, like a stray sun ray, pink tongue tasting the air, eyes the color of sea. Holding you holding the earth like astronauts do, up in the spinning expanse of black, nothing to hold them down. Good at games / In your life always Good at games Too good at games, like an artisan, woman of craft, Shakespearian thespian of smiles and frowns, tears and gowns. Too good at rolling loaded dice, loaded words, emotion as poignant and pointed as King Leer, casting his kingdom into the sea for a moment of feeling. Feelings that clash like thunderclaps, clap like roaring applause. Feelings that cry Yahtzee, settle the coasts of Catan, crash the riding trains, sink the largest ships. Cash in on checkmate, cornering the king with the queen. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Let¡¯s read a book instead. In your life always Even when the volcano destroys Pompeii, the sprinklers soak through shoes, the baby howls like hurricanes or the oven burns through crust. Even when Rome falls, Jerusalem sinks under siege, the store is out of milk. Even when the lantern dies, the rope breaks, the cave is plunged in black. Even when you say it¡¯s right and I say it¡¯s wrong, huffing and puffing like collision-bound trains¡­ I¡¯ll be in your life always. Mopping up the lava and ash. Drying the shoes, soothing the child or baking a new loaf. Building a new land, bolstering up the freedom some seek, running to another store. Burn the candle, tie the rope, light the cave. Agreeing that love is not making you hurt, not making me right, not making you right. Enough to be in your life always. Whisper of afternoon / All hands Whisper of afternoon Before time grows up and leaves the house, spare me a moment for companionable quiet, the warmth of your hand in mine the warmth of afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, warming the carpet, bathing the whole house in sweet slumber. All hands All hands on deck. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Never know when the tide may strike, but I¡¯m off with you. Don¡¯t wait for the fish to leap like frogs into the nets till they burst with plenty. The islands are calling, all two thousand, and no man¡¯s an island¡ªI need you. Shelve the boat and scuba dive into the coral mazes, sign to the fish, learning the art of patience from sea turtles. Take me adventuring, while the age is young and the time is long. Secrets of summer lemonade / Set sail Secrets of summer lemonade Bills stacking like houses of cards, poised to crash like the economy. Bills used as cup holders, place holders, tissues and napkins. Bills delivered by mail, by cyber waves, by stork. But we¡¯re outside in the garden, climbing into the branches in search of carts of lemons, Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ready to be ground into sweet relief. Set sail The ship is threatening mutiny, stretches of time spent in safer water until the mossy ocean grass has set roots in the hull, embraced the anchor in nature¡¯s death grip. Break away before the ship dives into the blue like Moby¡¯s wealthy whale. Crack open the sails, chip through the webs and dust, leave before you plan the leaving. Depart before you know the meaning. A ship needs two things only: two captains and a sea worth sailing. Dont let go / Uncharted Don¡¯t let go I can¡¯t grip the tape like you, grind the wheels or turn the tail. You defy gravity like Ollies while I cling to your hand, afraid to pop the board skyward like an acorn climbing back into the trees. But I fear nothing, like skydiving instructors making a living off falling, if you hold my hands like the railing off a grand staircase, ushering me to the ball. A series of moments are all I take before I slowly peel my fingers from your arms, a baby bird dropping from the nest, the mother crossing her fingers as the child learns to fall, Stolen story; please report. learns to use her homegrown wings. It¡¯s slow like breathing, but I rumble, skating along painted sidewalk lines like a train finding the comfort of rails. Grab a board and join me, hold my hand as we float across, hearts kickflipping like thirteen-year-old olympians. Uncharted Roll me the parallel plotter and draw an unwavering line from us to a point of departure winking on the horizon. Draw hundreds of lines, all intent on completing a dozen trips around the world like Phileas Verne. We¡¯ll determine our bearing by the speed of our hearts. Pull me outside of myself, out of the ship, out of the sea, to the ancient tombs of books you thrive in like a raider, pillaging the best words and phrases and reworking them into something new. Put the pen in my hand and lead me into the deep waters, no longer uncharted. No sharing / Twenty-one gun salute No sharing They taught me to share¡ª half the cookie crumbles for you, half the ice cream melts in my outstretched hands. Drive the plastic car around the block, then hand me the keys for my joyride. You play with the miniature menagerie for now while I build a town out of Lincoln Logs, wooden beams rising like Viking war ships. Then switch, the zoo I let loose as you build the huts into skyscrapers. But now I play for keeps, no take backs, no sharing. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Not when it comes to you. Twenty-one gun salute Eternally tied to the oceans in you, even if the seas drain. I¡¯ll settle my boat into her resting place in the new swath of land like an ancient captain claiming the waters like God¡¯s great flood. I can wait until the skies dump enough to lift my ship back into the blue-gray expanse, cloud sailing. Sound the guns¡ª not a celebration of life lived, solemn ark funeral, but a celebration of a love that digs into the dirt, feet planted like redwoods that break the atmosphere¡¯s glass and grow into heaven. No new captain of my heart¡ªyou gave me a promise of countless seas¡ªa single lifetime is pocket change I¡¯ll happily save until we walk across oceans again. The undying lands await.