Not the expensive shoes.

Not the caviar.

Forget the choices in life.

I like the way things are.

No need to chase the jones.

No need to worry about the words of others.

Simplicity, Love and Justice.

All those are what I need aside from the love that came from others.

Take a smile.

Stare at the glistening sunset.

Lack the bewildering guile.

Either you count on that. You bet!

A cleric is enlightened after experiencing.

The limits and the lack of having a normal human desire.

Never needed to replace shoes, but being grateful.

It’s about fulfillment and not about conquering an empire.

Each person has it’s perks.

My name is Nicole and I was diagnosed with being bipolar at the age of fifteen.  I wish I had been diagnosed sooner because maybe then I wouldn’t have gone through as much confusion and pain in my years earlier. 

I am now 27 years old and a mother of three beautiful girls.  I have been blessed to find a husband who is very understanding of my mental condition and tries to be there for me. 

Not everyone who lives with this condition is so lucky.  I know that having this disorder can drive family, friends, and loved ones from your life.  This is not always the case, but I know this can happen from personal experiences. 

I am hoping that the information I give here will help those who suffer from bipolar have a better understanding of this condition.  This information is not only intended for those with it, but people who have loved ones suffering with this disorder as well. 

Chapter 1: Facts About Bipolar Depression

Bipolar affects all types of people.  It has no discrimination against sex, race, age, or ethnicity.  If you have bipolar then you are not alone.  Estimates suggest that about 8 million American adults may be affected by this serious mental illness. 

People with bipolar spend more time in the depressive phase than the manic or hypo manic phase when they are ill or symptomatic.  When they are symptomatic they are experiencing more lows than highs.  In other words, they are experiencing bipolar depression. 

Bipolar depression can be so overwhelming it feels like it sucks the joy out of life.  People who suffer from this depression most often times lose interest in activities and things they once enjoyed.  They may feel extremely sad, worthless, and or guilty.  This mood can make them feel restless and have trouble thinking. 

Bipolar depression will not just go away on its own.  This is a serious illness and if left untreated it can lead to thoughts of suicide and death.  Treatment can help manage these symptoms of bipolar depression for most people. 

The following is a list of symptoms that people who have bipolar depression suffer from.

1. Losing interest in activities and things you once enjoyed.

2. Feel sad and worthless.

3. Have trouble thinking.

4. Appear restless or do things more slowly.

5. Gain or lose weight.

6. Have trouble sleeping.

7.Sleep too much.

8. Feel tired all the time.

9. Start to alienate yourself from friends and loved ones.

10. Think about death.

If you are experiencing bipolar depression or you think you are, please go see your doctor.  Your doctor and or psychiatrist are the only ones who can determine if you are bipolar or not.  You may just be suffering from a different type of depression, which has very similar symptoms.

Chapter 2: The Ways Bipolar Depression Have Affected Me In My Life

In this chapter I will be sharing my personal experiences of bipolar depression.  These experiences go back to even before I was actually diagnosed with being bipolar. 

All I ask is that you read with an open mind and do not judge me.  I believe past actions do not make a person who they are today, but learning from those past actions and how you live your life now makes you who you really are. 

When I was four years old, I was in foster care.  I came to live with a nice couple that decided to adopt me after  living with them for a couple of years.  I was a very angry, scared, and confused child due to my past with my birth family.  I was not the outwardly explosive angry person, but the implosive.  I held all of my anger in because all I wanted to was please those around me. 

My thought at the time was if I was the perfect daughter, I wouldn’t be sent away again. Trying to be perfect has its wear on a person, especially a young child who had already been through traumatic experiences.  My disorder started to peak it’s head at this time.  Yes, I know at such a young age. 

When I disappointed my parents by my actions, I felt the need to punish myself.  It started with cutting my arms and legs with sharp rocks.  After I did this, I felt better; I felt justice had been served. 

I would explain away the marks to my parents by telling them I got scratched from branches while climbing a tree or crawling through a shrub.  This was believable to them because we lived in a woodsy area and I loved to explore. 

I believed they didn’t know the real truth of what was really going on.  I was wrong.  Years later, my mom told me she knew I cut myself with rocks.  Instead of getting me help, she swept the matter under the rug so to speak. 

Through the years, the self mutilation became more sever.  When I was in middle school, instead of using rocks I started to use knives and box cutters.  This self mutilation happened more often during the winter than the summer.  

During the winter, I started to get more depressed and lose interest in the activities I once loved.  I started to alienate myself from my friends and family.  My grades would drop from A’s to C’s.  Because my grades dropped, my mother was very disappointed and angry with me.  I would then feel the need to punish myself yet again. 

It started with just scratching myself with the knives, but turned into cutting.  How deep I went depended on the severity of my emotions.  During these episodes, I felt so many different feelings.  I felt like a had a tornado of emotions spinning inside of me making me spiral out of control.  After the episode, I felt better and more in control.  The tornado of emotions would subside. 

My mother finally decided to get me help after I had cut my shoulder in four places almost down to the bone.  The only reason I was found out was because at school I bled through the bandages I had put on my wound and a teacher asked to look at it.  My mother picked me up and took me to the doctor to get stitched up. 

You may be wondering how I could cut myself like that.  To tell you the truth, the emotions were so strong at the time that the pain from the cutting was a relief.  I was hurting so much on the inside that it took outward pain to alleviate my inward suffering.  The strange part about all of this is, while cutting myself, I felt like I was  in a horrendous nightmare; a nightmare I couldn’t escape from.

After this incident, my mother took me to a psychiatrist.  The psychiatrist diagnosed me with depression and labeled me as a cutter.  The professional told my mom I cut myself for attention.  I found this funny since I always tried to hide what I had done. 

At first I told the psychiatrist how I really felt about things in my life and why I did what I did.  Then I stopped because she told my mother everything I told her.  My mother grounded me because she was upset by what I had told the psychiatrist.  My mom felt that I was attacking her and I was trying to put all the blame on her.  This was not my intent at all.

I felt so alone and confused after my mother berated me and punished me for telling someone how I really felt.  I realized that I could never tell my mom the truth about my feelings without being punished.  So I would lie when asked how or what I was feeling.  I plastered a smile on my face and pretended everything was perfect in my life. 

Pretending everything was okay made my mother happy and that was all that mattered to me at the time.  The down side to this was, doing this made my depression worse and the episodes of cutting more frequent.  No one was the wiser because I got better at hiding it. 

The other side effect was that I became angry.  I would feel this anger bubbling up inside of me and I had no idea where it came from.  The plus side to my life is I had another outlet for this anger besides cutting.  I played sports; soccer and swimming mostly. 

Playing sports helped immensely for awhile until my mother put pressure on me in that area to be perfect as well.  I felt I could never do right by her.  In some way, I always disappointed her.  I hated disappointing her and so I strived to be perfect. 

I exercised and pushed myself to my physical limits and beyond.  When I felt I had failed in my exercising goals,  I pushed myself beyond my breaking point by whipping myself with hangers and or belts.  This did the trick even though I knew it was unhealthy.  I was able to release some of my anger this way.  Because of this, I never blew up in anger on anyone until much later in life.

My anger started surfacing even more during high school.  I had trouble containing it and so I started to act out.  My mother would be disappointed and angry with me after I acted out and punished me.  Most of the time I was grounded for my punishment and other times I had everything I enjoyed taken away from me. 

Being grounded was the one of the worst punishments my mother could give me because I hated feeling caged and alone.  When I was grounded to my room,  I had no outlet for my anger and the tornado of feelings inside of me would be hard to contain.

One of the times I was grounded, I lost control of myself.  I was so miserable, depressed and alone.  I felt I couldn’t take it anymore.  I didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore and I realized I could never be perfect.  Also, I didn’t want to live the way I had been living anymore.  In my mind, there was no escape; there was no hope for me. 

I decided to let go of the control I had on the emotions inside of me.  This was a mistake.  I took apart a pencil sharpener and used the blade as my tool for cutting.  I started with my arms and then moved to my neck and up to my face.  Things became fuzzy after awhile.  I do remember sobbing uncontrollably while mutilating my body.  I felt like I was back in that nightmare and this time I had no way of stopping it.  It was too out of control. 

I remember looking in my closet mirror and seeing all the blood.  I didn’t recognize myself.  What I saw was a monster; a monster I wanted to end.  I cut my wrist, but it wasn’t deep enough.  So I kept cutting.  This is when my mom got my door open and walked in. 

I remember her standing there for a few seconds and then running up to me and slapping me.  She was so angry.  My mom yelled at my step dad to call 911.  After he ran upstairs to call, my mother grabbed me by my hair, yanked my head forward, and told me to look in the mirror.  She screamed at me, “Look at what you did! How could you do this to me? You are a disgusting monster, you selfish bitch!  What am I going to tell people?  How could you do this to me?”  She let go when she heard my step dad coming back.  

My step dad said that the ambulance was coming.  He said they needed to get me to lie down on the floor and keep me warm because I was going into shock.  I didn’t realize I was shaking uncontrollably.  I started to feel weak and when I looked in the mirror again, I saw that I was sheet white. 

I lost a lot of blood, but luckily the ambulance was quick to get there.  The paramedics came in and bandaged all the wounds they could and stabilized my condition.  Then they told my mom that they could take me to the hospital or she could because I was stable enough.  She told them she would take me there. 

The paramedics informed the hospital that we were on our way and would be there shortly.  As they were leaving, my mother and I got into the car.  My mom told me to put my head between my legs because she didn’t want anyone to see me because I would scare them.  I did as I was told. 

Well, the doctor stitched all the wounds up at the hospital and said I would be okay.  My mom asked if my face would scar badly and they said that it might or might not.  The doctor then asked me if I was really trying to kill myself and I looked to my mom for the right answer.  My mom responded, “No. She just did it for attention.”  The doctor asked her to leave the room and she did with a huff. 

After she was gone the doctor looked at me and asked me again.  I didn’t want to answer and the doctor said I needed to tell the truth if I wanted help.  I answered yes.  He said that he believed me and knew I wasn’t doing it for attention and that I needed help.

He went out of the room and talked to my mom.  My mom came back in and said, “You brought this on yourself.  They want to lock you up in the psych ward because you told them you were really trying to kill yourself.  What am I going to tell everyone?  I am going to have to explain to people that you are crazy and in a mental institution.  How is that going to look for me?”

I tried apologizing profusely to my mom and telling her I was so sorry.  She responded, “I will never forgive you for what you have done.  After all I have done for you and this is the way you thank me for adopting you.  Maybe I never should have.”

Her response killed me inside.  I felt my heart had broken and after that I didn’t care what happened to me anymore.  I went without an argument to the mental ward.  I didn’t say one word on the way there.  I didn’t feel anything except for numbness until I walked through the heavy door and heard it lock.  Instantly I felt panic.  I was in a cage all over again.

Chapter 3: The Healing Process Begins

                “Excuse me,” he spoke to the receptionist, “do you know where I can find the Prince? This is an urgent matter.”

                The receptionist looked at Stanley and saw his badge. “He’s in Room 214, on the second floor. Take the stairs up and it’ll be the second door on the left.”

                “Thank you.”

                Stanley followed those exact steps and made it to the room. He walked up to the doorway to take a peek inside. The Prince was on the bed resting. There were bandages wrapped around his eyes and he was wearing a hospital gown.

                As he looked on, the nurse attending to the Prince came up to him.

                “Can I help you with something, sir?” she asked.

                “I’m here about the Prince,” Stanley answered. “I’m going to be looking into what happened to him. Is there anything you can tell me about him so far?”

                “Well as you can probably tell, his eyes have been damaged the most. Thorns did this; I found a few on his face. The rest of his body is in battered shape, as though from a fall.”

                “Where are his clothes?”

                “They were sent to the police labs. They’re running tests on them as we speak.”

                As soon as he heard that, Stanley decided to make that his next priority. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

                “No, you should come back later when he’s woken up.”

                “Alright, I’ll be back then.”

                At the police labs, Stanley met with Dr. Elk, the technician in charge of the tests on the Prince’s clothing.

                “Have you concluded your tests, doctor?” Stanley asked.

                “Yes,” he replied, “and I found something that is quite interesting.”

                “What’s that?”

                Dr. Elk handed Stanley a printout and explained. “Hair particles were found on his clothes. They’re fresh, roughly a day or two old. We ran these through the system just in case something popped up, and it did. Turns out these hairs are a perfect match those in a cold case from twenty years ago.

                “The Rapunzel case. A mother and father’s infant daughter had gone missing, presumed kidnapped. Police investigated but turned up nothing. However, the parents still had traces of her DNA and had it entered into the genetic database.”

                Stanley finished up reading the sheet.

                “Do you have any questions?” Dr. Elk asked.

“No,” Stanley answered. “I think I ought to go have a talk with these parents of hers. They’ll want to hear about this find.”

                Stanley went directly to speak with Rapunzel’s mother and father. He had to be careful to not get their hopes up too high.

                “There’s been a break in the case,” he told them.

                “A break?” replied the father. “What sort of break?”

                “We found some of her hair. It’s fresh.”

                “Oh thank goodness!” exclaimed the mother. “Do you think she’s alright?”

                “I really don’t know at this point, but I’m certainly hoping so.”

                “Us too,” said the father.

                “Where did you find the hair?” asked the mother.

                 ”It was on someone’s clothing.” Stanley paused for a moment.  ”I can’t tell you who exactly it was, but we will be looking into this person and what his or her involvement with your daughter is.”

                “Of course,” said the father. “Do what you need to.”

“Is there anything more?” asked the mother

                “Not right now, sorry,” replied Stanley.

                “Well, we’re just glad to have heard something after all these years.”

                “Yes,” added the father, “and to know that our daughter hasn’t been forgotten is of great comfort.”

                Stanley smiled. “No, certainly not.”

                Not long after, Stanley got a call from the nurse. She told him that the Prince had woken up and that he should head over there at his first available moment.

                Stanley rushed back in much the same manner as when he went there the first time. When he got to the room, the nurse was waiting for him outside the door.

                “He’s ready for you in there,” she told him.

                “Okay, thank you.”

                He walked in the room and saw the Prince lying up in bed. The bandages were gone; Stanley could see that the area of and around his eyes was red from some sort of injury.

                “I’m Stanley, a detective.”

                “Hello, Stanley,” he answered.

                “Can you tell me what happened?”

                The Prince gathered his thoughts. “It all started one day when I was exploring deep into the forest. I came across this big tower, has to be about 20 stories high. There is a young woman up there. Her hair is so long that she throws it down so that I can climb up.

                “I had been visiting her there for the past few weeks. But this morning when I went, it was different. The braided hair was there for me to climb up. When I reached the window however, I saw that it was severed and being held by an old woman.

                “I panicked and fell backwards. I pulled on the braid so tight that it fell out of her hands. My own fall was broken by the thorn bush at the base, but at the expense of my eyes. It blinded me, so I had to wonder around in darkness. After what felt like hours, I collapsed. I must have come out of the forest and someone saw me, and here I am now.”

                Stanley let it all sink in before speaking again. “A tower, you say?”

                “Yes. It is deep in the forest and surrounded by many tall trees, so it cannot be seen from the outside.”

                “And what about this old woman?”

                “I didn’t get that good a look at her.”

                “You said that when you fell, you pulled the braid with you, away from her?”

                “Yes, that’s right.”

                “So then, is she still up there in the tower?”

                “I would imagine so, yes.”

                Stanley and a task force of officers made their way into the woods and found the tower, which they knew was what they were looking for when they saw the long braid at the base.

                A ladder was set up to reach the window and climbed up. When he got there, he saw a haggard old woman sitting in the corner.

                She looked over to him. “Have you come to get me down from here?”

                “Yes, I have,” Stanley replied, entering into the tower. “I was curious to see if anyone was up here, so I brought a ladder.”

                “Oh thank goodness!”

                “How did you get up here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

                “It was that rotten Prince! He left me stranded here!”

                Stanley paced around the room, inspecting and sniffing.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Just seeing what clues can be found.” He went back to the window. “Alright, I’ll go down first. You follow.”

                “Okay.”

                He went back onto the ladder and descended to the ground. The old woman who followed him took much longer than he did. In that time, a crowd had formed around the ladder. And when she finally reached the ground, someone stepped forward.

                “Madam Gothel?”

                She turned around and saw Rapunzel’s mother and father staring at her.

                “So you do recognize this woman?” asked Stanley, standing there with the m.

                “Yes, she was out neighbor,” replied the father.

                “She moved away from us two years after our daughter disappeared,” added the mother. “Now I see why.”

                “No, that’s ridiculous,” objected Madam Gothel. “I came here to free her and that’s just what I did.”

                “How did you know she was here?” asked Stanley.

                “I saw the tower from afar and was curious as to what it was. So I went into the forest and found her inside it.”

                “‘Into’ the forest?”

                “Yes.”

                “So you saw it from outside the forest?”

                “Yes, what are you getting at?”

                “What I’m getting at is that the tower cannot be seen from outside the forest. You knew she was here because you were the one that put her here.”

                He cuffed her and handed her off to the officers.

                “Thank you for that,” said the mother, “but now where is our daughter?”

                Stanley spun around sniffing, and then settled to the ten o’clock position. “This way.”

                Everyone else followed as he led the way picking up on the scent. They travelled through the forest and eventually found her resting in a small earthen hovel. Her hair was cut short and she seemed exhausted.

                “Who, who are you?” she stammered weakly.

                “I’m Stanley, I’m here to rescue you,” he said. “Come on out, your parents are here for you.”

                She stood up. “My parents?”

                “Yes, and they’ve missed you for so long.”

                Running out of the hovel, she landed in their arms crying.

                “I always knew I would find you someday!” she exclaimed.

                “Us too,” said her father.

                “Come, let’s all go to the hospital,” Stanley said. “Your Prince awaits.”

…And they all lived happily ever after.

I am blessed to have a husband that’s my best friend. And I have a few really great friends. There are some

other interesting people, that I have met. In places like physicians offices, on buses and planes, then there were work friends,

and church friends etc. From these people I have received expert financial advice,medical advice, great travel tips and ideas,

as well as opinions I value, and encouragement for every day life. I have forgotten some of their names, if I even knew them,

but not their faces or words. Only once in a great while do you meet a kindred spirit, someone you would love to share a chat,

and some tea with on a regular basis.

While soaking in a hot tub at the hotel spa ,just letting the jets get the kinks out, I met such a person.

She was a lovely asian women around the same age as me. We talked of our children and grandchildren, the cute things they

say and do, and how much more fun,they can be, than our own children because we don’t have total responsibility for their care.

We spoke about our dinner plans what restaurant we had choosen for dinner, and some other simple everyday things.

I know we could have been great friends.

We said our goodbyes,before I knew it, and both agreed that we had enjoyed our talk. As she left the spa she waved at me with

a warm smile and a wistful wave. Why didn’t I get her email or home address ?

As we get older it seems harder to make real friends, maybe we are afraid to reach out, just in case we are rejected.

I hope in the future that I’m more receptive and won’t miss a opportunity to get to know another kindred spirit and

friend. In closing let say how much I appreciate all my old friends, and my new writing buddies.

I protested, “There were people like Gandhi and Abraham Lincoln my dear boss! Mr. Thomas may not be as honest as they were. Still, I trust him.”

“How do you know they were honest? Is it not through books? Were those authors honest?”

He took out the glasses and gazed at me. The uneducated man was shrewder than I thought. I asked, “Do you believe your holy book?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If not, I’ll be ostracized.”

“Means you don’t believe it from your core?”

He laughed and said, “I don’t believe anything blindly, John. How long have you been working here as my salesman? Four years, right? Even without your knowledge I have tested you a few times before concluding that you are a bit honest. I had left the drawer opened and cash disorderly kept as if it was not counted.” After a pause he continued, “What prompted you believe your ex-teacher honest is your blind faith built on prejudice. Have you ever tested him?”

“No! But he’ll survive any testing. He was my class teacher.” I said firmly.

“Bet?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Next occasion when he pays the bill you handle the cash as we do sometimes. I’ll sit in your chair pretending careless. If he gives you a big piece, return a little extra balance. Let’s see.”

“Do you think he would be trapped by trifle amount?”

“You test it! There are people whom I know are honest in big sum but waver in small.”

I laughed.

On Tuesday evening my boss signaled to me. I saw Mr. Thomas, my ex-teacher, at the turning of the street, about fifty meters away. We interchanged our positions. There was nothing unusual in it. Although he was my boss, sometimes he performed a salesman’s role, and I that of a cahier to avoid the monotony of the work.

My boss packed all the things my ex-teacher ordered, and kept it on the table. When I gave the balance my hand shivered a little.

Counted twice, he glanced at the boss, who seemed concentrated in reading. He suddenly thrust the balance into his pocket, took the bag and walked away. I was about to fall down.

“Did you do it?” The boss asked.

“Yes.”.

“Why do you stammer? How much?”

“Twenty.”

He stared at me with a triumphant smile.

The next day, at around 9.30 a.m. there were only a few customers. When they left, my boss went out for having a cup of tea. I saw my teacher approaching hastily. He looked around to see if anybody was coming, and took out two ten-rupee notes from his pocket. He stretched them to me and rebuked in a low tone, “Keep this in the drawer! John, you are as careless as you were during schooldays. I know this job is very precious for your poor family. Don’t lose it. No boss would tolerate the inefficiency of his employee, especially in excess balance. Take care!” He walked away without waiting for my words.

When the boss came back I narrated the incident. He closed his eyes and said, “I admit it. But, is it honesty, hiding someone’s inefficiency?”

LEATHER REBEL ( HELL PATROL, PART 2)

I look inwards to a time when the sun hung lazily in the sky, and to summer days and memories of warm rain.

But there is a darkness it seeps in through the cracks, pushing aside a smile in exchange for a tear. And then the whispering begins, I hear my name on the air like a delicate breeze unseen but unstoppable.

“Why” the word is delivered with feeling and is coated in regret. But I cannot answer, for I cannot face what was and the consequences of what is.

From time to time others have looked upon my face but have not seen beyond their neutrality of indifference, for as they sought the reassurance of familiarity they found only emptiness in my eyes.

“How are you?” the words grate like the edge of a blade on a dull stone, I smile as if to supplement the lack of words as pain washes over me again. It brings to mind a wave born of the ocean that breaks upon the shore and is gone.

If I could but reach out and say whatever is needed to be said, If I could just stand for a while and touch the certainty of the day.

“Wait please stay” I listen intently, “There is so much needs to be said, so many wounds to heal.” I am resigned to my fate, knowing that my smile will wave goodbye without the bitterness of regret.

I cannot forgive the words, they signal the end of now and the introduction of tomorrow. But still the darkness fills the gaps, for as a shadowy companion it cloaks me with defiance.

Beyond the glass beyond the dust of generations, the sun still hangs lazily in the sky and yet everything has changed.

I recall when we touched the heavens, and shared the stars laughing as the world rolled by. But we are older now, wiser now, so much sadder that youth has waved goodbye.

It’s colder the wind bites like an angry dog; I search for a memory by moonlight but find only the cobwebs of innocence. I hear the sound of a fairground ride and recall windfall apples and fresh mown hay.

I cannot forgive the words, they fall like leaves in autumn, discarded forgotten and timeless. And yet I feel compassion for in so doing I temper my regrets and broken dreams.

But if all should fail there is always the certainty of memory, although each one fights for a position in the queue.

The smile returns I recall chestnuts on an open fire, while knowing that never far behind darker thoughts dwell in the shadows.

If only the wind didn’t caress my bones with alarming familiarity, if only salty tears could wash away regret. I could so easily leave behind all of those things that bind me to bitterness.

I could laugh as I look through the window into tomorrow. But we are destined to choose our own path, and sometimes in so doing we are seduced by the darkness.

There is so much left unsaid, the smile of a child, the dog that wags its tail in greeting, the first fall of snow a blanket for all of our sins.

Before me the hallway is empty, the only sound that of my footsteps announcing my arrival. The sound echoes of the wall to be lost in the past, before me now a door familiar the handle cold to the touch.

It turns soundlessly, opening up into a room devoid of warmth and light. A simple flick of the switch illuminates a chair, an old comfortable friend providing a gateway to daydreams as the world outside continues unseeing uncaring.

“Coffee?” the word hangs in the air like an exotic location waiting to be explored, coffee the life blood of cold winter evenings and absent friends.

“You’re late, but I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” I turn she sits there a smile frozen on her face, auburn hair neatly brushed and tied with a bow.

“I’m sorry I just lost track of time, you see I went there today to the cemetery it was quiet, dignified and familiar.”

“Why do you punish yourself this way, it’s always the same, same day, same time, year in and year out. It’s time to forgive yourself you have nothing to prove.”

I want to turn away but I am compelled to listen.

I cannot forgive the words they taunt me; shower me with guilt haunt my dreams. Look at her lost to a time when innocence was a word upon our lips and a harvest moon gave rise to smiles.

How did we come to this, what twist of fate sat quietly to one side as events unfolded?

The coffee has grown cold with the waiting, outside snow flurries beat relentlessly against the window, concealing from the world an age old drama.

“Did you find the words, you can never find the words, did you, tell me did you?”

I nod but it is a mechanical response and means neither one thing nor another.

“Tell me what you said, I need to know, we need to share those moments which have passed.”

I cannot forgive the words for in their passing they leave a trail of scars, raw open wounds from which pour scorn and loathing until the pain returns. What can I say that would heal the hurt where could I run and hide from my guilty secrets?

”I am so sorry” the words slip out smoothly unchecked unblemished, she turns away for they have no meaning anymore. I turn back to the switch for before me there is nothing now but an empty chair, nothing but a nightmare from which I cannot escape with one swift movement the room returns to darkness but the whispers continue as they have always continued.

“Why did you come back it happened such a long time ago, it’s time to move on to live again don’t you understand?”

I open the door and step into the hallway the keys fall unseen to the floor. Ahead of me the way out until the next time I remember as a boy my mother saying don’t be afraid of the dark there are no such things as monsters. I love my mother dearly but she was wrong, for indeed there are monsters we create them then become them

I cannot forgive the words

Regional 17428, Estação de Briançon, 2011.07.24 (Photo credit: nmorao)