Save your scissors, dearheart.

He grabbed my wrist as I was trying to walk away.

For some reason, none of them want me to leave, on both sides of the window.

The news spread quickly, like Mary Mallon’s typhoid fever. A week of explanations, of lack thereof, of abused promises that’ll go nowhere but due to the simplicity of social niceties.

One co-worker took it harder than the rest. Probably because he lives with Jesus in his heart and has not yet been perplexed by the sway of loss, no matter how much he has studied and read on the subject.

As I left work, said goodbye, he grabbed my wrist as I tried to leave.

He looked as if he wanted to say something meaningful, perhaps even heartfelt, but I didn’t have the stomach for it. I stopped him before he even started and put my free hand on top of his for a moment, then placed it on his heart. I looked at him, and laughed at the idea of a future priest and an aethist becoming such good friends.

I removed my hand from his heart, put my index finger to my lips and simply said, “Shh.”

“I’ll give you these cigarettes for a lighter.”

Yesterday, while at work, after the rain let up for a bit, I stepped outside for a smoke.

There’s an old crazy man that wanders up and down the street, asking for money, for cigarettes. He’s a hassler and smells like rotten milk. His teeth are brown from the drugs, and he keeps one arm up close to his belly.

I dislike my encounters with him and blow him off because he permeates despair and I’m afraid it’ll cling to me.

I can’t risk it.

I took a seat and watched him approaching. I was tired from the craziness going on inside, and when I’m tired I tend to look pissed off, though that’s not always the case. My eyes just get heavy. He kept his eyes locked on me, and I saw his mouth moving, though I couldn’t hear his words.

As he got closer, I started to hear bits.
“I… walk..”
“..eee loo”
“alone…”

After much discomfort about his approaching steps I started to hear all of the words:

“I was meant to walk alone.”
“I was meant to walk alone.”
“I was meant to walk alone.”

Over and over.
Just kept saying it over and over.

He didn’t stop to ask me for anything, just kept his eyes on mine until he had eventually walked right by me.

My opinion of him shifts.

You, the cocksuckingbastardwhore.

Quite lovely, really. Well, at least it was.

Sunny Sunday late morning and early afternoon. A booth set up during the artist walk in the park. The breeze was slight and it tickled. I saw a lot of old faces that I hadn’t seen in quite some time. Brief bursts of wit and charm through the catching up. I felt like me again.

Until I saw your fucking face.

And all I could think of was the amount of coke you’ve shoveled up that nose. How frequently you used and exploited me. How you fucked around on your wife in your place of business. How you tried so hard, so many times, to bring me into your bedroom. How frequently you’d try to liquor me up to get inside my head. How you lied and manipulated to keep me in place. And how stupid I was to believe that it was all sincere, that I had found a place, a family. How foolish I felt.

How foolish I feel.

And you tip your head to me. A nod saying that even though we can’t talk, we can acknowledge precenses quietly.

And I, I regressed to that ten year old girl and I waved my middle at you and mouthed obscenities.

And when your father came and hugged me, offering apologies, cursing your name, I saw the look in your eye.

I know that I’ve won.

Suck my motherwhoring dick you sick son of a bitch.

Not even a dog sleeps and eats where it shits.