Comments Posted By Anna Meursault

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I fashion myself a god because I do not fall in love
I know myself to be a devil when I smile constantly
I limit myself in the shape of a human to cry thin salted tears

Yet, I’d rather be a leaf I think – drifting away, without tears or happiness or love. In that way, plants and I are rather alike, living with no intrinsic wish to.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 02.08.2016 @ 6:52 pm


Thin silver anklets
Bells whispering on light chains
Screaming with each step

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 02.04.2016 @ 7:17 pm



Submit a video sample and two character references to the application on our community website: www.**********.org

Applicants should have: minimum 5 years experience with broadcasting – radio or small news outlet preferred – undergraduate B.A. in Communications or English, photogenic appearance.


She crumbles the flyer and throws it behind her back, walking away as it falls neatly into a trashcan.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 01.08.2016 @ 5:29 pm


If love only colors with the touch of our hands, the mingling of our breaths, then what worth is this canvas of mine, blank as the day it was born.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 12.29.2015 @ 4:29 pm


The air was crisp and cold in my lungs as we walked side by side. There was a heavy weight in my stomach, a panic fluttering in my fingers, but in you I saw no remorse.

Perhaps it was my inability to look. Our paths had been aligned for so long that I forgot how to know you when we were apart. Your gaze was focused straight ahead, hands by your side, bag on your shoulders — a woman seemingly unaffected.

I had mentioned before: the beginning of the end, and I would be deluding myself into thinking that this was not it.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 12.07.2015 @ 3:51 pm


It has been years since I last saw you – six years since college and ten since high school. I wasn’t going to come back but I heard you were and I couldn’t stay away.

I still don’t know if it will all be for naught, but I suppose the attempt has its own purpose.

I can’t imagine you now, the you that I’ve only dreamt of. Your face is harsher maybe, your smile softer. Are your hands calloused at the edges, at that junction between finger and palm?

Or are they softer now that you know the ease with which flesh separates from the skin?

Medical school has been good to you I think.

Do you still have the letters I sent? Or did you instead throw them in the bottom of some drawer or other, lost and forgotten for our apartment’s next tenants?

I hope it’s the latter.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.11.2015 @ 4:21 am


You tell me that our friends are finding love, and I wonder if this spun sugar cage is enough for you anymore. If this caricature of budding flowers is enough to trick you into spring, to hide winter’s gaunt fingers scoring her frost across your arms.

Maybe it will take a couple of hours, days, weeks, but by the end of it you will leave me and my frostbitten hands to dance amongst birdsong and sunshine.

And I will be alone, this cold heart of mine melting onto the ground below.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.10.2015 @ 9:34 am


There is a sofa in our apartment that faces the balcony. I lie on it often, and wait, watching out at the leaves rustling and the cars driving past.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 10.12.2015 @ 1:31 pm


Seeds are scattered on the ground, and the birds that try to pick them up choke on the poisoned dirt.

Slowly their claws wither and wings shrivel, beaks snap and eyes deaden.

They wait in silence for the seeds to grow into trees.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 09.26.2015 @ 5:32 pm


Love and loss were foreign concepts to me.

And though I think they still are, brief dots of red have begun to invade the greyscale landscape of my soul.

And though I would hesitate using such superfluous descriptions, I can tell you that the moment you spoke my name, the black and white sky lit up with something.

And though I doubt that something was love, it was enough for me to turn around and trip on an errant brick.

You laughed, and so did I, because there was no greater pain than to watch you and know with irrevocable certainty that this was the beginning of the end.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 09.17.2015 @ 8:08 pm


It’s not that I have any other choice but this. In this manner, and all others, my lack of experience leads me back to the same starting point. My throat dries and my arms ache as they try to hold this weight up. All I can do is wait for the day to repeat.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.27.2015 @ 8:22 pm


The voices in my head are silent as the air before a stroke of thunder, charged and heavy and humid. The silence is ferocious, though not even two weeks ago I would have thanked the world for it.

Even now I find myself drawn back to that state when you are at my side. I can’t think around you; I can’t even move when your hand is in mine. Instead I listen, my heartbeat uncomfortably loud as I attempt a smile.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.25.2015 @ 6:03 pm


This room is cold and my hands are too small to span the walls. The white pain is nicked, but my nails have been bitten down to stubs.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.24.2015 @ 6:52 pm


Love is what they tell you when the shattered remains of your window cut into the soles of your feet, when the view outside is still a beautiful sunset, even as the carpet underneath is slowly stained a rusted red.

It’s the phone that remains untouched for days and days, the emails that sit unanswered, the way I leave the room when you enter.

As sleep crusts in the corners of my eyes I wonder if love is the way I am lulled gently into sleep, and wake seemingly immediately after, hours and hours compressed into a single instant.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.23.2015 @ 11:40 pm


Somedays I slipped out of bed early in the morning, you grumbled and so did I, but “drugs don’t make themselves” I would say, toeing my sneakers on in a hurry, as I rushed to my pharmacology lab.

During the day-long chemical synthesis, the hours between steps 3 and 4, I thought of you, and wondered how your mornings were without me. Did you still lay in bed waiting to wake with the rise of the sun, or did you leave just as easily as I did, without regard for the rumpled sheets.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.21.2015 @ 9:04 pm


I don’t have the soul of a poet,
but I guess I can try
(Just don’t expect a Picasso or anything)

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.07.2015 @ 12:47 pm


Today is too joyous a day to reminisce about you darling.

But both of us know I can’t help but think of you so instead I’ll remember the time I sat next to you, head on your shoulder, fingers tangled together, listening to your pulse as it beat in your throat.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.04.2015 @ 2:42 pm


You broke my heart on a Tuesday morning.

I was stumbling out of our apartment, hair askew, backpack weighing down my left shoulder. There was still cereal in my mouth, and then I ran into you.

You called me ridiculous and clumsy and lovely, wrapped my hair in a ponytail, and laughed so beautifully that then I knew.

I just stood there, knowing love did not exist outside of this.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 08.03.2015 @ 9:43 am


We were sitting together, eating sandwiches and sugar doodles by the steps of the student union. I think we were talking about something inconsequential: homework, chores, my lack of interest in anything romantic.

That last point I remember even now, because while you were of the opinion that I had the soul of a particularly lifelike robot, all I could see was the way the sunlight reflected off your bright red nails, as if fire was dancing on your skin.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 07.31.2015 @ 5:52 pm


There is a hole on my bedroom wall, just above the mattress.

It is jagged, as if someone took a knife to it before I came to live here, but still it fits my thumb near-perfectly.

Imagine for a moment that I wasn’t sitting in my bedroom typing this up; then maybe I’d find the inspiration to talk about more than a thumb-shaped metaphor.

Or is the right word analogy? Allusion?

Too plain to be imagery, to vague to be narrative or refrain.

Then maybe I should go with too pretentious to be anything but an elegy.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 07.30.2015 @ 8:57 pm


In my dreams you keep yourself hidden. I have seen you in the blue of that sky, in the crumbs of gravel painting the streets.

But do you see me there? Or am I the convenient fool, caught between your desires and their desire to hold you back?

How can I live like this, bound by tendrils of your disdain?

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 07.28.2015 @ 5:16 pm


It is with a melancholy mood, and a distinct soreness in my right hand, that I pen this letter to you.

Dearest, there is no need for other words to be spoken between us. What has been said is all that needs to be said I think, though you may disagree, aggravated by my usual reticence.

This letter will be the last form of communication between us love, at least for the months upon end I will be spending elsewhere, away from your embrace.

Still, I will await any response with baited breath, if you choose to gift me with such pleasures, despite my own failures.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 06.10.2015 @ 10:57 am


“If they were to walk up to us right now, who would be more surprised?” he said, as he wrote in a worn-down notebook.

“Well,” his partner said, thinking slowly, pencil tapping on the wooden desk, “I think the question is all together obsolete. They were never very fond of change.”

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 05.21.2015 @ 6:13 pm


“Half should be enough,” you told me, drunk on your success but mostly on the bottle of cheap citrus vodka littering the glass. “More than enough under these circumstances.”

I ignored you, as I tended to do back then, and filled the cup before dumping it all on your hair.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 04.04.2015 @ 8:11 pm


Do not fall in love with me.

I will render candles from the greed beneath your skin, pudding from the lust running through your veins, glue from the pride stuck deep inside your bones.

I am a storm, a man-eater.

And I am hungry.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 02.28.2015 @ 8:34 pm


Ha! My sins are too much for you. You should cower and crumble in fear. Fear, I say!

… wait no, what is that you say? Don’t even think that thought. I am above it, and even you, bottom-dweller you may be, are above such things.

You don’t like the condescension? Too bad, so sad. Cry me a river. If you could swim across it, I’d be impressed.

Never mind? Well, that was much too easy.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 01.16.2015 @ 2:48 pm


There is a scarf wrapped around her neck, in one, two, three loops, winding around.

A thick tree trunk, a slight hemp rope, all of these things call her there. That same scarf hangs from the lowest branch, and she reaches up once, twice, thrice, to grab it with her hands.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.30.2014 @ 7:28 am


Your eyes are like pools, blue and clear surfaces spiraling down into something I’d barely touch with my hands let alone with my heart.

Yet I still do, and black swamp water coats my hands, green algae hanging off of each fingertip as they brush off golden sand.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.19.2014 @ 4:49 pm


“Distance is another word for laziness,” he tells you, scrubbing dirt from the walls with long fingertips.

“Such a luxury is only an excuse for those who have accumulated enough social wealth to discard such things, scorning the efforts the rest of us make.”

The skin under his nails blackens and you watch the soot slowly disappear from the room.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.19.2014 @ 5:07 am


“Either way,” the owl said, snug in its tree, hidden from predators, “you will be forced to make a decision. It will not be to your satisfaction, but you must make it anyways.”

The lark stared, eyes beady and trained on its face. “But then, what shall I do from now on?”

“Whatever you like. It’s your choice,” and the owl fell into slumber.

» Posted By Anna Meursault On 11.17.2014 @ 5:43 pm

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