Waltz of night

a virtual memory delayed
her mind diving close to the edge
catching rays of terrestrial impulses
in the deep end of her bi-ocular mind
dreaming in an ocean full of alien words
moving through an unfocused waltz of night
soon to be waken by the daylight of tomorrow


3WW: delayed, edge, focus
Writers Island: Impluse

Faces

photo by Frances at Blogjem, who kindly let me post it here

they stare but they don't look at you
their faces crimson with lonely joy
their bodies pressed against the wall
happiness escape their lips
as their eyes looks downward
hoping for you to notice them
hoping they would be caught
before they fall
downcast into despair
hoping every day
to be taken home


Writers Island: Liberation

A Stranger

she walks through the hollow exits
noiseless pools of the city
dipped in orange and gray
down the unknown streets
monochrome faces stalk the walls
creatures small and divine
crawl the wet pavement
no fears hovering nearby
her eyes wander from one space to another
lips twist to a half smile
she hears her name taking flight
settling over her
soon at her final destination
echoes of sweet hellos greeted her
planting herself into a green plastic chair
she slowly complete her smile


Writers Island

Second Chance

Fourteen days in a state of unconsciousness should have caused him to retreated into himself but instead it did the opposite.

It was like being reborn, new to the world. All things forgotten as he plunged into the freezing water. He kept his eyes closed as his sank deep into the cold blue. Down below, he opened his eyes, staring up at the swirling water and the reflection of his curvy face. The dark bottom of the sea flickering with bits of sunlight. He lifted his head out of the water and stared up at the cloudless blue sky.

This was the second chance that he was looking for. The water had helped drown out his sorrow. Every couple of days, he would swim in this vast ocean. Everyday, things get a little easier to handle. Everyday, those bad memories leave him, bit by bit.

The motion of his body against the currents, the silent moments in the water, had kept his mind moving calmly. Over the horizon, he saw the city, the place of his birth, glowing in the sunlight. His lips curved into a smile. Either the water had gotten warm or his body had gotten used to it. Either way, he was in complete bliss at the moment.

The freezing temperature had dipped below zero. But that didn't stop him. This was what he needed. He stared across the water at his grandparents swimming happily next to each other. He waved at them and gestured he was getting out of the water. They waved back.

He wrapped a towel around his body, not cold at all. It was the second week that he swam in the cold ocean but he still had not gotten use to the idea yet. His grandparents understood his skepticism but didn't pressed on. They were right even if some thought it was foolish for them to be doing this at their age. Their happy faces told him this was right, not at all foolish.

How he had wished he had joined them earlier. He knew he was too wrapped up in himself to even noticed how much he meant to them. But now he wanted to make it up to them. After his fiancee had called off their wedding, he had gotten drunk, jumped into his Ferrari. The doctors told him he was lucky. Not many people can survive such a terrible accident. His grandparents had been there all the way. Even when he struck his anger at them, they've never given up on him.

That was five months ago, the long scar down his left leg remained as as a reminder of his reckless behavior. He didn't think there was anything that would help him get through it but here was out in the cold in his happy-face trunk.

He smiled, knowing his life will be better, happier. He helped his grandparents out of the water, armed with towels. He gave his grandmother a kiss on the cheek. This was for her 80th birthday, a gift from him. It was just the three of them, swimming in the ocean. He made sure they have a lifeguard, just in case. Back at his house, the three of them chattered effortlessly about the swim. The sparkles in their eyes told him, they were what he needed.


Visit the Writers Island.

Magical Dreaming

opening my sleepy eyes to the darkness
a light appear from above
familiar surroundings now gone

my room, now a forest
my ceiling, endless blue sky
my bed, earthly grains

my skin thin as paper, begin to change
from dark tan to light blue to dark brown
light spots appear, scattering themselves into smaller dots
changing shapes as they continue to cover my body whole

leaves appear on my bare arms and hands
my feet attach itself to the ground
blending and sinking deep into the earth

branches, now my arms
leaves, my eyes and fingers
the trunk, my legs

I look up and feel myself growing taller
reaching the december sky
with my arms stretch out
like a bird ready for flight

up and up I go
beyond the clouds
higher and higher
finally stopping just a few inches below the sun

a powerful feeling surge inside of me
bouncing around like separate heartbeats
I bath in the warmth of the sun

clouds begin to cover the sun
encircling me in complete darkness
something is pulling me away

a strange feeling tug at me still
something amiss
something ordinary
my view, suddenly unclear

I open my eyes
back in my room
on the floor next to the bed
tangle up in bed sheets
with pieces of my hair stuck in the edge of a drawer


For Writers Island

The Chase

rushing through the limitless night
with eyes straight ahead
awake but half dreaming

driving towards the unknown
forgetting how to dream
creating false illusions
chasing false prophecy

speeding along like a bullet train
letting bitter desires sweep us in
moving faster as time goes slower

catching up only to let them slip
through the disguised dreams of a memory
laying in a field of dandelions under a glowing sun
that turn into the yellow moon

cohering all our scattered dreams while they laid sleeping
watching through the transparent glass of yesterday
clouding over by our very breath

immerse in this beautiful darkness
waiting for sleep to come and stop tomorrow from chasing us



This is for prompts from Writers Island, 3WW and Friday 5.

Crossroad

a crossroad I didn't stop for
an interlude of sorts

neglecting things that returned
as grotesque reminders of my awkward transition

forever the obsessed perfectionist
who can't draw a straight line

like a chef who can't find the kitchen
I blindly go forward

forgetting and remembering
everything and anything

in this state of numbing minds & weakling bones
I wander daze and off center

I long for normalcy
to return to a place of complacency

is there no chemistry between my body and me?
are we two unmatched shoelaces from one shoe?

chase the clouds from my mind
and drive them into the open sky of tomorrow

so that I may borrow these words from yesterday
and turn them into dreams of today

I long to ease back to something I thought has been lost
my forgotten self


This is for prompts from Writers Island, 3WW and Friday 5.

Some words to describe my absence from blogging due to shingles - a somewhat mild to severe case that is still ongoing. I'm not confessing this to garner sympathy (okay, maybe just a little). I do like to address why I'm not commenting and updating my blogs. I'm currently typing with one hand and trying not to go too fast. I don't know if I will have the energy to make comments but we'll see. I hope to get back to blogging soon but for now it will be one or two updates. I didn't realized how much I miss it until I check the memes and regret not participating. Here's to a less-painful recovery.

Over the horizon

take one step
that is all
only one

if you will
no one's gonna know
where you've been

take one step
open your eyes
let there be morning

over the horizon
a new beginning
no need to cry anymore

take one step
see yourself anew
no need to lock yourself in

no memories
no yesterdays
just you

take one step
towards the horizon
towards tomorrow

it's over now
time to remember new memories
just

take one step
only one
towards the unlock door

This entry is for Writers Island.

Just Bloom

This entry is for Writers Island: Earth.



one tiny seed
sprang from the underground
covered under the bitter cold of snow
burnt by the heat of summer
just waiting to bloom

under the heavy sky of clouds
under the shade of another
it continued
slowly but steadily
still waiting to bloom

small as it was
it stuck in its place
neglected, forgotten
covered by new earth
it waited to bloom nevertheless

years later
out it came
bit by bit
stretching its wings high into the sky
catching the sun
with its colorful leaves and long arms

a child sat with his legs swinging
upon the branches
of this grand tree
that grew
out of a tiny moment of life

Letter from Isabelle 6

This entry is for Writers Island: This Season.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

Date: December 13, 2007
Dear L,

I've been released from the hospital for two days now. Here in my own apartment but unsure what I should be doing. Almost all of my memories had came back but some were still gone, hidden deep inside where I hoped some day they would come back.

I can hear footsteps coming but I didn't know who it was until they spoke. It was Mom and Dad. They have come up from Florida to stay with me. I can hear sadness in their voices as they spoke. Mom especially, her voice shakily with each syllable. I told them I was fine and that they shouldn't have drove all the way here. I said that with the strongest voice I can muster but it came out all shrilly and weak. I was glad for their arrival but they were not a comfort to me. I smiled trying to keep them at ease but it was useless. I know they worry all the time now - about me - their only child. I wanted reminded them they still have a son, L. He is still out there waiting for their acceptance. But the words - they wouldn't come out. I opened my mouth but couldn't say them.

It is still a blur how the whole thing got so dreadful. I can't remember why it was so hard for them, why they could not accept their own son the way he was. I can't even remember the fight when you left. I can remember the scar on your face, so vivid and yet it seem so distance, so far away from me. If only I can reach inside my mind and grab onto you, keeping you with me. But you're still gone, still so far away.

Mom and Dad stayed with me for a couple of days - helping me adjust but I remained calm, trying not to move around too much. Trying to show them I can take care of myself. I have already done so many training classes but still hoped to regain my sight soon. Dr. R is still convinced it will happen. But now I am not so sure. It had only been two weeks and yet I remained the same.

My job as a copywriter for a small magazine didn't seem so important anymore so I decided to quit rather than to have to explain what happen. I had Mom sent in a letter for me and got my things from the office, which wasn't much - just a photo of the family. I guess that was my way of making my stay temporary. I can never have any personal items displaying on my desk where anyone can see them - which can give them an opportunity to talk to me. I guess I distance myself too much now to even make a friend.

I'm typing this on my computer which Dad had helped me set up. I can voice commands into the computer without typing it in. I was glad to be doing something familiar again. Writing this letter helped ease me back into my life. At least the part I can remember. I am reminded that I am indeed a writer - at least I was. I can't remember if I was ever good at it.

Mom and Dad went home to Florida yesterday. I am alone again. I don't even know what I am going to do now. It wasn't that I didn't want them to stay, just that, it was better this way. For me. Their presence makes me uneasy. I heard them fighting during the night when they thought I was sleeping. They were insinuating each other. Their quiet bickering wasn't quiet enough - that was what you used to say to me. I remained still in the dark. Memories came and went but only a few of them stay long enough for me to keep them.

I had a dream or rather a memory of us when we were playing in the snow, spreading our arms to make angels in front of our front yard. Your angel was perfect while mine was slightly wingless. We laid there staring up, watching more snow falling down like teardrops from the sky. We sticked out our tongues and tasted the white drops of winter. I think we were thirteen then. It was and will always be my happiest moment with you.

The winter season has finally settled in along with Christmas. I didn't feel like celebrating or going outside. It was bitter cold even inside my apartment. The heater was turned on but it cannot keep the cold from reaching inside me, into my inner layer of skin that forever seem out of place.

Another Christmas without you and yet, I couldn't bring myself to really think of you as gone. I can't remembered if I ever enjoyed Christmas or if I did anything that made me happy. I still have all the presents that I have brought you, all wrapped but never opened, hidden in the back of my closet. The memories, they kept rushing into my mind but nothing seem right. They were all out of order. I can't decide which happen first or if it really happen.

Outside I can hear the rain or rather loud sounds that sounds like small balls of ice was falling from the sky. Their echoes bounced against the window pane. Soft music was coming from the distance. It sounded gloomy and lonely. I think they were Stephen Bishop songs. I wondered who was playing them and whether they, too, felt lonely during this cold season.

Isabelle

Read Part 7 here.

Letter from Isabelle 5

This entry is for Writers Island: The Moment

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Date: December 10, 2007
Dear L,

As the days slowly drifts by, the memories of you came rushing in. Now I remember you are gone, no longer connected to me. We were two pieces of pie cut from the same crust but now had turned into two different flavors. Me, now a dull strawberry short cake and you a rich cheese cake with inner flavors that only you can taste.

Am I making sense? I don't even know myself. My mind are full of scramble thoughts, thoughts that are suppose to make me understand and remember but they seem to lose its memento soon after they appear. Dr. R was not satisfied by my results. He still couldn't understand why I still cannot see. He thinks a week is too long a time but it felt like a day to me. I still couldn't remember much but you are still in my mind. Memories of you are still tuck in the corners, coming out at small intervals and keeping me partially whole.

I cried a lot but couldn't understand where the tears came from. I've forgotten so much. Everything that seem to make me sad are no longer there and yet when I think of you, I feel sad. But when I think of me and where my life is going, I feel isolated and can't remember why.

Another memory came to me yesterday. It was about old man who died on the train. I was on my way home from work. The sun was still out, shinning into the train. Everything inside the train seem to glow as I watched the surroundings. I turned to my left to see the old man sitting there. His head was slumped over to the side and his closed eyelids flicker with the movement of the train. I was one seat away from him.

He seem so peaceful. I thought he was sleeping. Other people seem to think so. One lady walked passed him to the seat next to him. She seem agitated by him when he didn't move to make room for her. Soon she left on the next stop.

I try not to look but couldn't help it. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I wasn't afraid. I've never seem a dead person before and yet I wasn't afraid. I find his face comforting somehow.

Soon a train conductor was called by someone. A man in a tan coat. It was still winter, late February. The man seem distraught and sadden by this old man. I couldn't help but noticed his green eyes blinking fast, was it tears? I'm wasn't sure.

I didn't look away as the old man was carry out of the train. The man in the tan coat helped the train conductor carried him out. I heard groans and angry sounds coming from the surrounding crowd.

I couldn't help but imagined it might have been me, sitting there, gone and no one noticed. I stepped out of the train, hoping to follow where he was being taken. Out of the train station and into an ambulance. I was rushing down the wooden stairs, almost missing a step but I had to follow. The man in the tan coat was in the ambulance with the old man. He was looking at me with his green eyes full of pain as they closed the ambulance doors. I waved without smiling. The sirens were silent as the ambulance drove away. I watched until it disappeared into the distance lines of the horizon. I stood there out in the cold for a while. I didn't know how long. But I felt my hands freezing up.

That poor old man. At least someone cared. Even if it was a stranger. I wondered if that was how they carried me out that day when I fell onto the tracks. I wondered if there was somebody who cared enough to ride in the ambulance with me. I wonder about a lot of things these days.

At that moment, I realized I had stopped thinking about you. I rushed home to look at photographs of you but they seem different. Your smiling face now a frown. Your bright eyes now dull with time. The curve of your jaws so smooth and round now seem to be rough and square. I pulled out the pictures and threw them into a wastebasket. I wanted to burn them but I couldn't. I took them out and put them back into the photo album. I kept one photo of you in my bag at all times since then.

Nurse Sara had been very kind and is still dictating my letters but I fear that I could not take care of myself when I get out of the hospital. I am so dependent on people these days. Still trying to grasp even the smallest memories of myself. I didn't just forget last week but almost my entire life had disappear from my mind and yet, you still remain, still hovering over me, almost protecting me. I kept imagining seeming your face telling me things will be okay. Nurse Sara had brought me your photo but I couldn't see you. I held it in my hand and I couldn't help but cry.

Isabelle

Letter from Isabelle 3

This entry is for Writers Island: The Promise



Read part 1 here.
Read part 2 here.

Date: December 2, 2007

Dear L,

There was an empty seat next to me on the train today. It was in orange - your favorite color. I remember how you said your favorite color should be bright and cheery. Pink was your first favorite but you switch to orange because you thought pink wasn't cheerful enough and that it also looks like blood when it became dark.

Remember how we used to ride the trains to school? I've always enjoyed those moments sitting next to you or standing next to you at the poles. You've always made sure no one trample on me, taking care of me as if I was your baby sister even though we are the same age.

I felt lonesome and the emptiness of missing you stayed me with even as I got off the train.

I started a new job today. But wherever I go, I would feel like a temp. There is no permanent home for me now. I change jobs like I change my clothes. I change things with no regard to their consequences. It was always easier when you were here. You kept me still. You gave me confidence to make my own decisions. I'm not saying I am lost without you but it does sound that way doesn't it?

Remember the promise we made to each other when turned sixteen? It was easy to make promises back then when we thought we knew our future. Do you remember the one promise we made that we always thought we would both keep even if we don't keep the others? Do you remember what it was?

We both promised that we would be together no matter what distances that might separate us. We would be in each other's lives even if for a few days or a few seconds. I guess we both broke that promise. It has been eight years since you left us, left me. Eight years - sounds like a long time. Time had sneaked pass me without me ever having to look at the calendar. How forgettable these past years has been. I didn't even try to look for you. It seems rather useless to try to find someone in such a huge city. But doesn't mean I have given up.

Whatever promises we had made didn't seem to matter now. Remember the song that we both liked - Downtown train? You didn't like the Tom Waits version but the Everything but the Girl acoustic version where it was a duet. That was our favorite song. Remember the words?

Outside another yellow moon
punched a hole in the nighttime, yes
I climb through the window and down the street
shining like a new dime
the downtown trains are full with all those Brooklyn girls
they try so hard to break out of their little worlds

You wave your hand and they scatter like crows
they have nothing that will ever capture your heart
they're just thorns without the rose
be careful of them in the dark
oh if I was the one
you chose to be your only one
oh baby can't you hear me now

Will I see you tonight
on a downtown train
every night is just the same
you leave me lonely now

I know your window and I know it's late
I know your stairs and your doorway
I walk down your street and past your gate
I stand by the light at the four way
you watch them as they fall
they all have heart attacks
they stay at the carnival
but they'll never win you back

Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
where every night is just the same you leave me lonely
will I see you tonight on a downtown train
all of my dreams just fall like rain
all upon a downtown train

Whenever I hear that song, I would always remember the times we had together on the train. We would ride them even when we have no place to go. When it is empty, you sing that song at the top of your voice. I would try to follow you but I let you sing all the parts. You had such a beautiful singing voice - not too high and not too low.

I've never forgotten you even when I have not seen your face for so long. But your face now seem like a blur in my memory. It rarely surface in my mind as sharp as it used to. Nor can I remember if you were taller than me or if your blue eyes were darker or lighter than mine. You probably were taller but then you usually wore a lot of tall shoes to make yourself more noticeable. Memories, they play so strangely in your mind over time. Sometimes they are clear and sometimes a complete blur. I often look through photos of you so I won't forget but the pictures - they are so faded now. They don't represent you, not the real you anyway.

I will end this here as it is time for me to go to my new job.

Isabelle

Read Part 4 here.

Letter from Isabelle 1

This entry is for Writers Island.

Date: December 3, 1999

Dear L,

Today, the sun refused to show, hiding in the clouds, darkness covering the sky and the city. It make me feel gloomy as I open my sleepy eyes. I did not want to go to work but I had taken too many sick days. So I drag myself out of bed.

Two years. That is how long since we saw each other. The days, they flew by without a single thought of you. But today, today riding the train, you appear. I was not thinking of you but your tan face appear standing next to me, holding onto the pole as I was. I thought, how strange I should be thinking of you after so many years apart. But I remember. Your face, unchanged, same as before, smiling at me. The scar on your cheek, still there, just a little faded. I am still very sorry about that. I hope you have forgiven me as I have forgiven you. As I tried to shift my thoughts away from you, it's stubbornness keep returning to you.

It started to rain lightly, splashing onto the train windows, blurring my view of the outside. Someone stepped on my foot. I moved a little towards the doors.

I arrived to work late due to train delays in both directions but so was everyone else. I was glad I was busy today. Thoughts of you vanished as soon as I started on my work - which seem to always pile up on Fridays.

On my way home, the rain pour heavily as I got out of the train station. I still got wet even with my big black umbrella. Someone bumped into me and I fell down onto the pavement, my umbrella falling down with me. Someone helped me up and sticked my umbrella back into my hand but I was already too wet.

It's as if it wants to rain down on me. Reminded me of that song by that British guy who used to be a drummer. How does it go? "...I wish it would rain down, down on me. oh yeah, I wish it would rain on me..." I think that's how it goes. A sad song. I listened to it when I got home from work. Laying in bed with the sheets over my face. It made me cry. I remembered it was raining when you left. Not heavy or light but just the right amount to add to the sadness and the gloom. But...forget it. That was the past.

I don't want to say much for now. So I leave you with a photo that I have taken this morning. I hope your day isn't as gloomy or wet.

Isabelle



Read part 2 here.

The Dream

This entry is for Writers Island.

He wanted money. He pulled out a long knife, pointing at me, told me to give him my wallet. I pull it out of my coat pocket and held it out to him. He took it swiftly and stuff it in his back pants pocket. Shaking in my winter coat, I hoped he would leave but he stayed. He asked me for my car keys. I told him it wasn't my car and that my husband was inside that store over there, he has the keys. We just stopped to get some snacks. I pointed a gloved hand straight behind him. He turned around to look for a second, then back at me, his big brown eyes shinning in the street lights. He has a small dark spot underneath the right eye.

I was supposed to wait inside the car but felt it was too stifling. We have been driving straight for three hours. I got out of the car into the chilly air. I saw him coming towards me but stay frozen in my spot, too afraid to move.

Now standing here, looking at this man hiding his face in a large black scarf, covered in a big black coat, I felt a chill running up and down my spine. I couldn't move or say much more. I can see he was a little nervous by the way his eyes kept jumping around. He was indecisive, looking behind him at the store and back towards me.

Finally, he decided to leave. He took one look at me and ran off into the dark night. I stared at his back, becoming smaller and smaller. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to digest what just happened.

I heard a knock. I open my eyes to see my husband looking at me through the car door. When did I got in the car? And when did I put my seat belt on?

"What happen?" I asked him and pulling the window down and looking at him, feeling confused.

"You fell asleep," he said as he came around the car and pulled the door open.

I felt sluggish as the car started to move. Was it a dream or did it really happen? I looked at my husband, his hands on the wheel. He turned to smile at me then turn his eyes back on the road. I wanted to asked him if he had saw anything but didn't. It must be a dream.

We were heading to a wedding after party. There were valets but my husband chose to park his own car. He asked me if I got any change for the meter. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets but felt nothing. My wallet was not there. I asked him if he had seem my wallet and he said,"It's in your coat pocket. I saw you put it there when we left the house." He was staring straight ahead. I told him, I couldn't find it.

Finally, arriving at the party, I swear I almost fainted when I saw who the groom was. He had the same big brown eyes with the dark spot under the right eye. He smiled at me as if he knew something. But it couldn't have been him. It's not like he robbed me and then rushed off to his own wedding party. I laughed for being so silly. My husband asked what I was laughing at. I said it was nothing.

As we got set to leave, I saw him again, getting into a limousine. He was wearing a big black coat with a big scarf wrapped around his head. I quickly turn away. Did he really wink at me or was I hallucinating?

Friendship

This entry is for Writers Island.

letters, memories, tokens
spreading thousands of miles

sitting on a plane
thoughts of your smiling face
spring on suddenly

hugs open wide
tears falling
shoulders warm
smiles aplenty
hellos all around

tea with lemon
face to face
words pour out like crazy

ten years
nothing lost
laughing and reminiscing
times fly
friendship everlasting

Unforgettable

This entry is for Writers Island.

unforgettable
he was
with his subtle gaze, his gentle voice
softly whispering in the wind
fading in and out

his jacket hanging loosely on her shoulders
eyes half closed
lost in the moment
listening to
his words of forgiveness and such

what wonderment did she see in those eyes
what would he said if he knew of her
of her heart

pale skin softly frame by white shirt collars
hair blowing gently in the breeze
going down into darkness
cover by brown sandy flakes

white lines falling from the sky
darkening the ground
slowly than speeding up
as the crowd disperse

she waited
alone she stood
knowing he knew
all this time
even if she never told him

Haunted

This entry is for Writers Island.

spiraling down
dreaming of images
all in array of colors
all without endings

in this hallow breathe
I stumble into
through the dark corridors
I walk hardly breathing
faster I go
I falter and fall onto the tile floor
crying out your name
only echoes reply
in backward babel
they grow silent as the darkness became light

I walk once again
into the open sunlight
your arms I feel
reaching for me
I cry without joy
to see your face all lost in the shadows

turning around, you walk away
leaving me behind
tears of little comfort
lost in my hands
I see your back fading away into the dark

I woke to a reverie of old memories
of forgotten words
your words
so strong in my head
thudding away

I sleep once again
hoping in dreams
to see your face once more
haunting me

The Stranger

This entry is for Writers Island.

Our order would be taken by an old waitress with thick glasses, always wearing the same blue green apron over white shirt and skirt with white sneakers. She would write down our order while diving her face into the writing pad. He would have a burger sandwich, medium rare with black coffee. And I would get my well done with curly fries and strawberry milkshake. Sometimes diet Coke when it rains. He rarely changes his order. At the Blue Cafe near my house is where we have our lunch day. Every Saturday unless something comes up.

We would chat about our day-to-day but mostly we would end up barely talking. How the minutes just ticks by so slowly, so unimportant with each of us silently chewing our food while trying to think up things to say. I would awkwardly twirl my strand of blond hair around my finger. He would check his watch now and then.

I would sometimes study his face for signs of something to say. Those rugged lines upon his face would change each time I see him. Those same blue green eyes would dart back and forth between my shoulders and my cheeks and sometimes my eyes for just a second or two. The thin lips that would speak slowly and softly. An hour and half every lunch date but very little gets said.

Words would fall out of our mouths, sometimes lingering in the air, resting on the diner table where all our conversations would fall. Any meaningful words we might say would slip away silently as soon as they came.

We would said goodbye with no more than a handshake and few exchanges. "Goodbye, Maddie, see you next week" he would say. And my reply would be, "Bye, Dad." No hugs or any lingering looks. People who sees us would think we were total strangers who just met. And in fact that was sort of true. We had just met again last year but only recently started these lunch dates. "To get to know you better, Maddie," he said when he first suggested the idea. I would smile knowing that's what I wanted. He is still a stranger to me but in time, I will think of him as my father who never left.

Message In A Bottle

This entry is for Writers Island.

Curled up inside the bottle, the piece of tan paper drifted from side to side as the bottle, ever so slowly, swam toward her direction. It stopped, landing at her blistered, bare feet. She stared down at the bottle, wondering if she should pick it up. She had spent many days gathering objects that had swam out of the water. Many times, they were useless to her.

She pulled her tattered sweater closer to her thinning body. The bottle float there waiting. The cold water splashed against her legs, still the bottle remained in its place, next to her feet. She picked it up and stared through the bottle at the ocean. Shinning in the bright early sun, the tan paper go from light to dark as she shook the bottle. She twirl around holding it high above her. The glistering glass shined brightly, producing rainbows onto her face. She washed off the sand and dirt before taking it home.

At her home, she took the bottle and set it on the floor. The tan paper was torn at the edges but in good shape. It was held inside by a piece of plastic wrap around the opening tied with a red rubber band. She pulled out the paper slowly, uncurling it. It was longer than she expected.

She sighed after recognizing her own hand writing. But a closer inspection made her realized it was written by someone else. "On island. Alone. Help!" She smoothed her hand on the black lettering, at its roughness. She laughed at the thought of being rescued by someone who was also stranded.

Just before sunrise, she woke up in a restless state and walked to the edge of the shore holding the bottle with the paper inside. In the semi-darkness, the moon shined high above. She had dreamt of seeing the moon on some yacht or a boat without ceilings. But that dream was many moons ago.

When she first sent out her bottle, she was so hopeful. But the days had drifted by without any sight of boats or planes. She did what she could with the things that was in her suitcase. Why was she so foolish to go sailing by herself? She could have waited for her Father but her restless heart had failed her again. She found some comfort in the thought of seeing her family again. Hope, she always thought was for desperate people but now she knew she was one of them.

She stared out into the water, the endless water that she had tried to swim but lost her strength, kept moving from side to side. She wanted to cry but the tears refused to flow as they had been used up by many sleepless nights. She screamed up at the sky.

She had never walked more than a couple of miles from her spot. She did not want to find what's hiding in those dark trees. She had set her limit so that she may be found in the same spot where she landed.

Just the thought of maybe someone else was on the same island, made her brave enough to walked past her limit. She slowly walked until she got to the other side of the island. There was no one in sight. She turned around and around but saw no one, no movement anywhere. She continued to walked farther. Maybe there is someone else here, she thought to herself. Still no one. She screamed hoping someone would hear her and come out of hiding. She went farther, this time running. Faster and faster she kept running, circulating the island. At last she saw someone running towards her. A man, an unfamiliar face, but nevertheless, a face, not a dream. She knew this because he was carrying her bottle in his hand.

Lacking the strength to stand, she sank to her knees and smile with all her might, waiting for the man to come to her.

Renewal

This entry is for Writers Island.

I fold myself in little pieces as if invisible
toward the inside I go
unintended for the world
I choose to go back to
the beginning
it's not a exit
but an entrance