so Paula wanted to play.  I thought i’d join in.  a bit of a poor effort, really, but…  oh well.  it didn’t exist before, and now it does.  i made it, and i know what i was aiming for. (i also know how far short i fell, but that’s by the by. 😉


It’s a game of blind man’s buff, Cassie.  I reach for you, but all I get is a brush of red curls on my fingertip as you whirl away.  The hint of your perfume guides my steps as I chase after, stumbling and silently weeping, but never able to say “enough”.

Never enough.

There are days I fear I’ll never reach you; days when I despair of feeling your soft curves beneath my fingertips again.  You’re cruel in your laughter.  I hear you – laughing at everyone’s jokes – everyone but mine, that is.  Oh, yes – you’ll laugh at their jokes.  Green eyes sparkling with all that life you so selfishly hold inside.  If you’d share it with me, you could have all of mine, Cassie.  I’d spill every last drop of my life’s blood on that luminous skin of yours.  I’d use every single splash to paint swirls all over your body – from your delicately pointed toe to that hair redder than the blood I’d bathe it in.  Redder than a dying sun.  The shades would mingle, until you truly were the sunrise and sunset of the world, as you already are of mine.

The pools I leave on your porch are not enough.  The gifts I leave for you, dripping their crimson essence down your front door are not enough.  Are they too small?  The rats, the rabbits?  Cats?  Dogs?  All too small?  Would a person do?  That hairy oaf you’re currently wasting your smiles on?

Oh, yes, my love.  I see you – flicking your curls away from that beautiful face – batting your eyelashes, thrusting your hips out as you stand there taking his drinks, sashaying on to the dance floor with him.

Me?  Oh, no – I’m fine; it’s just a scratch.  I must have held my glass too tight for a moment.  Probably when you kissed him.  Curling your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling his lips to yours…   I’ll just grab this napkin here.  Maybe, if the wound’s still open later – after I’ve found out where he takes you – I’ll leave you a note.  You won’t miss it if it’s written in blood will you, my love?  Not like all those texts and emails you don’t seem to have received.  The cell phone reception around here is shocking though, isn’t it?  And even when you get a connection, it’s terrible.  See, I could have sworn that, the last time we spoke, you told me you never wanted to see me again.  That’s why, even though I’m sure I must have been mistaken, I hide in shadows and around corners.  So I still get to see you, even if by some weird happenstance I heard you right.  It’s why I watch through your window at night, why I follow you to your job in the mornings, watching your backside fill that businesslike pencil skirt so perfectly.  Watching people watching you, remembering how you look under those clothes…

I’ll see you soon, Cassie.  And this time, you’ll see me, too.

One last time.