Comments Posted By Chelseyann
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He was almost here. She was almost about to… (almostalmostalmost) what? Become a mother? Even if she was going to give up this fetus she had been hosting for nine months now? How many months, weeks, hours had passed since she’d known she couldn’t – wouldn’t – keep him?
She may be his mother, but she won’t be his parent, a loving mother there to nurture and support. She was going to hand him over to his parents, a couple she didn’t even know. That’s all she knew – they were a married couple. She didn’t know their names, where they lived, their jobs (if they had any), their favorite TV show or their favorite ice cream. She didn’t know if they already had children or if they themselves had been adopted. Did they have parents? Good parents? What would they name her son? She just didn’t know.
Because she would see her son once, as they were moving him to the baby wing- all soft blankets, pastels in blues and pinks, with the sharp smell and harsh lights only hospitals have – while they stitched her back up.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 03.19.2016 @ 3:47 am
There’s all that sticky-sweet-sappy underneath. But how do I get it?
You’re as wholesome as apple pie, I guess, as sweet and delicious. But I can’t get past the crust to the sweetness within. Nothing’ll work, will it?
» Posted By Chelseyann On 06.29.2012 @ 1:26 am
She could feel the impatience radiating through the all the layers. “In a minute,” she called down, her voice winding down the curves of the staircase. She heard a muffled call, which she took as acceptance.
Again. She looked at herself. She could do this. She whispered little mantras to herself, her words conforming to the rhythm of her heels click-clacking.
At the landing, she beamed. Fake it ’til you make it. “Hi.”
» Posted By Chelseyann On 06.23.2012 @ 12:21 am
If she could hear you now, if she could know, would you tell her?
Would you tell her you find someone else? Yes, she said that she wanted you to continue your life and to be happy, but did she mean this?
» Posted By Chelseyann On 05.04.2012 @ 1:23 am
Your face tells the stories you’ve lived, the stories you’ve concocted, the stories you’ve written. I read the lines, recalling the times I was beside you in your adventures, and I can’t help but smile. You’ve earned every bit of your face in all your years. This is the face you deserve, the face you’ve made. A beautiful face.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 12.05.2011 @ 11:20 pm
There are things you say, things you do, things you think and buy and read and sing and write and appreciate, that a year ago you’d never, no. There are things you are thankful for that, the year before, you couldn’t imagine wanting nor needing. The centerpiece of the dinner table, an orchid, was something she would’ve never known that she would like if he had never brought it home. And so that was what her Thanksgiving speech was about- change.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 12.05.2011 @ 12:23 am
One hand at my waist and another at my neck, you spin me ’round. So, so fast, I’m seeing circles. It seems I’ve no choice but to follow the subtle demands of your hands. My feet, my legs, my torso, my arms, my hands, my head, my heart obey.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 12.04.2011 @ 12:50 am
You’ve got this fire- more of an ember, really, at this point- that burns inside you. Instead of warm yourself by it- you haven’t figured that out quite yet, I think- you burn everything good and stable in your life up, a forest being ravaged without a second thought until all that’s left is smoke and ashes.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 12.02.2011 @ 10:58 pm
If you slouch like that, your back will stay that way. If you make that silly face, it’ll get stuck that way. Be careful of the words you think because they will become the words you speak and the actions you perform.
But my question, then, is, if I love you like this why won’t it always stay the same? Why isn’t the love you have for me promised for tomorrow?
» Posted By Chelseyann On 12.01.2011 @ 7:31 pm
The museum was filled with relics, preserved from far off ruins. Without even a touch of her fingertips upon these ancient artifacts, she could feel the lives of those previously alive and now dead wafting about her. She could feel the way they must have lived. And what had caused their deaths, was it ordinary or extraordinary? She had to know.
The museum sparked an insatiable curiosity to find out all she could about that civilization from so very long ago.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.26.2011 @ 11:16 pm
The president stood before the microphone. He looked into the eye of the camera, knowing he was addressing the nation he led.
With words he hadn’t prepared, actions he didn’t perform, he changed the course of the nation.
Some cheered, some solemnly celebrated, and some mourned. One way or the other, that night would never be forgotten. He delivered the conclusion to a horrific tale that had started ten years before.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.26.2011 @ 2:48 am
The stampede of horses neared and she couldn’t catch her breath. She could feel their hooves pounding the soft earth below but she couldn’t move. She could see their manes whipping back with the motion of their speed but she couldn’t go a thing. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream nor speak, couldn’t breathe. They were going to trample her and there wasn’t anything she could do.
The alarm clock rung. Another day, lost in the hallways, being run over by all those kids who weren’t invisible.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.25.2011 @ 2:23 am
He’s got his head bent over an unknown book, a beanie pulled low, his legs crossed.
He’s pressed into the corner of the seat, pressed against the icy glass of the window. The city flies past behind him but she’s caught, an insect in a well-constructed web, staring at him. This isn’t the first time she’s noticed him on here but it is the first time he stunned her, captivating and intriguing.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.23.2011 @ 11:42 pm
From across the room, behind her and just to the left, he can see that’s she not really studying, no.
She’s got her small little notebook open inside her textbook. She’s sketching things, showing him the worlds inside her head, as he studies her not studying.
He’d give anything to be able to stand up, walk over there, and start a conversation. Today’s not that day.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.23.2011 @ 12:11 am
You’ve got that short little creamsicle dress on; your hair pulled back and braided; your make-up on, which you’ve made up your mind is mod thus cool.
If you look closely, watch carefully, don’t blink, you can watch your smile spread across your face, lifting your cheeks and brightening your eyes. Your laughter bounces off the walls, echoing delight.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.22.2011 @ 3:50 am
The rules were, you weren’t supposed to get too close and I wasn’t supposed to end up like this, heartbroken.
The bench where we used to meet after our days, it’s littered with rotting apples and decaying leaves. I walk by at least once a week. I’d check it everyday, but sometimes, the fear that you’ll be there is overwhelming.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.21.2011 @ 4:07 am
You’ve got a flare, babe, a flare for the dramatic.
You swing your arms around me, like I’ve been gone, across the world.
I leave for a second, and you near tears.
But I have one favorite little thing you do: the way your face lights up as I tell you the truth, that I love you.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.20.2011 @ 3:42 am
A flare. That’s what it was. That’s what you aimed at me. Or was it already in me, and you just lit the fuse, set me alight?
You. I thought I knew me before but, here, now, with you near, I feel so right. As if I finally understand myself.
Was it fire, passion, heat, or illumination you gifted upon me?
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.20.2011 @ 3:37 am
You shuffle your feet as I shuffle mine. I inch closer, seeking the warmth of your skin. We play as if we’ve never touched before. Then, suddenly, I can’t keep my hands off of you, can’t keep from crying, can’t keep from smiling.
You’re just like before. Nothing’s changed.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.19.2011 @ 2:48 am
Solitaire: the game for the solitary. But here they were, he watching as she dealt the cards.
He watched, so intent on catching every single move she made. He bit back his tongue when he wanted to correct her because he knew it was much more important she just play.
So she placed a red on a red and 10 on a 9, but he didn’t say anything.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.17.2011 @ 9:24 pm
As he was wont to do, he pulled out a pack of cards and said, “Up for a magic trick?”
“Sure,” you said.
He said, “Pick a card, any card,” as he fanned the pack out.
You pulled a card, a three of spades, and placed it back in the deck.
He shuffled. You saw his telltale sign of concentration, that tongue peeking from between his lips, as he chose a card.
He held out the King of Hearts. “Would you let me be the king of your heart?”
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.16.2011 @ 9:35 pm
She was born without a heart, they said.
What they didn’t know? She’d been born with too big a heart. And slowly, so slowly she barely noticed it happening, the world hurt her and she had to protect herself. She had to harden her too-big heart for the roughness of life.
That’s how you came to know the woman you do. This is the repercussion of how multiple people treated her. Including you, when you call her a heartless bitch.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.16.2011 @ 9:29 pm
If I left, how long would it take for you to notice? To miss me? To wish I were there instead of somewhere else?
If I left, would you care, at all? If I left, would it matter? Would it affect you?
I feel so inconsequential. Your life moves and I don’t even factor in. Not a bit. Can you even tell I’m here, standing right here, and when I’m not?
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.16.2011 @ 3:33 am
As an orchestra would, they worked together to create something beautiful. Moving here and there, they shaped this masterpiece, a baker with a ball of dough.
Let it marinate, drizzle it with care, let it sit, let it warm, let it cool. These were there secrets. Cohesion, cooperation, care.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.15.2011 @ 1:43 am
The thought of you, at all, boggles my mind sometimes.
The incontestable fact that you exist, I can’t process.
It’s as if you were some abstract Jackson Pollock hanging on a museum wall and I am one of those people, the people who just can’t understand it.
You’re my abstract art.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.14.2011 @ 2:37 am
It was sharp, almost as frigid as his heart, and hanging precariously above them.
After that, and this, everything in between, she couldn’t just sit aside anymore. No.
She reached, and with all the strength she could muster, broke the icicle from the ceiling. He turned. Now was the moment.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.13.2011 @ 1:47 am
As the fog cleared, I was sure you’d have disappeared.
But that was just my faithless self, my self in the beginning of all of this. The way you changed me, you gave me hope, faith, and happiness. You showed me that everybody might not be as cruel as I’d known. You’d given me a reason to try again, try reaching out, try connecting.
But now that we’ve reached our finale, and there’s nothing left, I don’t know where to go.
Because every beginning has an ending, doesn’t it? And this was just ours.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.12.2011 @ 3:51 am
They were magnets, she was convinced, herself negatively charged while he, he was positive. She had no doubt. For everything she could consider negative about herself, all those nasty traits she tried to deny, he was there, balancing her out.
They couldn’t part, no, she couldn’t let that happen.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.11.2011 @ 12:25 am
You leave your fingerprints in my heart, my brain, my speech. Everything I touch now, you’re written all over. The way you speak, the way you think, the way you breathe. The rhythms and music and incantations of the way you are haunt my dreams, waking and sleeping. You’ve got your fingerprints in the cement that I am, and I will forever remember the exact pattern of your prints. The spiral of you, scarred and perfected.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.09.2011 @ 10:55 pm
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The patent leather boots really classed up her look, he thought to himself sarcastically. But still he was here, talking to her. Was he flirting? No. No. She was probably a whore.
But still here he was, buying her a drink, smirking at her.
» Posted By Chelseyann On 11.09.2011 @ 4:05 am