Comments Posted By Dulcie
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Living vs. exsisting
» Posted By Dulcie On 12.14.2012 @ 3:01 pm
He stepped onto the ship.
“See you soon.”
But I never did.
» Posted By Dulcie On 11.25.2012 @ 6:50 pm
I know I am too late as I walk in the door, much too late to go unnoticed, so I abort the idea of sneaking in quietly. Nicholas waits for me on the love seat, staring ahead.
“Where have you been?”
“I told you to be back by nine.”
“It’s saturday. The traffic was bad.” Why am I still in this? Fear begins to form in a hard knot in the pit of my stomach.
“Who were you with?”
I take a deep breath and stare at the wall. I feel like I am explaining myself to an overprotective father. A father who drinks a little too freely.
I can smell the alcohol on Nick’s breath from three feet away.
“I was with Noah.”
“You’d rather spend time with him than me.”
“No, of course not.” I hear myself say words that have never been more untrue.
Nick sighs a practiced, well worn sigh. Terror shoots through me. Please let me off easy.
“Then, you’d better come over here and prove it to me.”
Fear turns to disgust, and I find I would take the beating over this. This is hell; this fake, ugly affection. I throw my jacket on the floor and saunter towards him. I pray he will not smell Noah on my skin.
» Posted By Dulcie On 11.22.2012 @ 7:41 pm
The ocean lets forth a mighty roar as I step into it.
I find I am afraid.
» Posted By Dulcie On 11.09.2012 @ 2:37 pm
The lights are flashing, and the music is vulgar and so, so loud. And all around you are people, smashed together, sweating together, crowding in a huge pit of delirum. And dancing, dancing in the worst sense of the word. Where is your date? And where is the couple you came with? You look around but you can’t move. You’re crammed between a large boy on your right, and a barely clad girl on your left. You’re on your tiptoes, peeking over bobbinhg heads. Then you see them; the couple. You’ve noticed that he’s been fawning over her all night, and she over him. And there they are, grinding; up, down, up, down. Her back to his front, their hips moving in circles, their eyes closed in ecstacy. You feel like you’re going to throw up. Weren’t you all making fun of the others doing this just minutes ago? Didn’t you all agree on how degrading it was? Your head is pounding you want to go home. You just aren’t someone who can partcipate in that sort of activity. You’re the responsible one. The good little christian girl. And you like it that way; that way you’re safe. Even so, you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from them. And a small flash of desire runs through you. You almost wish it was you over there. That it was you being completely loose and free and innapropriate. You begin to wonder how wonderful it might be to let go for once. You wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.
» Posted By Dulcie On 09.29.2012 @ 7:11 pm
I am trying to stay soft.
And have togetherness.
But friendships are tapestries
and threads unravel.
At least they are for me.
And my thoughts are becoming more crude.
And my outlook is so wide at the edges that it is too overwhelming to take it all in.
Would it be easier to bring in the edges to one small, steel, manageable square?
» Posted By Dulcie On 09.17.2012 @ 7:42 pm
Maybe it’s time to trust again.
» Posted By Dulcie On 09.11.2012 @ 7:24 pm
It occurs to me all at once that what I am about to say will be binding.
Each new passing second is a gasping breath.
Two words. Just say them, just say them.
No way out. Trapped. Lace clouds my vision, chokes my wrists.
His eyes; shining, beautiful, amazed. Like he is about to receive a gift.
I’m trembling. How can I say the truest words I have ever said, ever felt,
when I’m treading on lies? Lies like shards of broken glass.
He’ll never find all the pieces.
» Posted By Dulcie On 09.10.2012 @ 8:05 pm
Afterwards, the silence is deafening. The stillness hurts me.
He kisses my forehead and rolls over to the other side of the bed.
I am cold. I can feel the imprint of his lips still lingering on my skin.
Snow is falling outside the window.
His breath turns steady as he drifts off to sleep.
I watch the snow until my eyelids feel heavy.
Even then, I lay awake.
» Posted By Dulcie On 09.06.2012 @ 4:20 pm
Mme. Cordilia sits stifly in her chair. Her fingers drum out a steady pattern on the desk in front of her, and her eyes are trained on the elaborate tapestry that hangs opposite her. Upon entering the room, one notices that her eyes are cold today. They always are, but today especially so. As Marco enters the room, her eyes pierce him, her stare somehow angry, devastated, and bored all at once. Marco’s face remains blank.
“You called for me.” He states. It is not evident that he is fighting to keep his voice even.
Marco raises his brows.
Mme Cordilia sighs. “It seems I have come across another need for you, my darling.”
Anger wells up in Marco’s chest.
“No, do not call me one of your darlings. Do not try to weave another facade right in front of me. When I last saw you I was made a guarantee that you had no need of me, nor would you, for quite some time. This time was necessary for me to gather my thoughts, without your influence, and you were well aware-”
“Marc.” Mme. Cordilia’s face seems to be fading, very slowly being replaced with a face that seems younger, and somehow softer. “I am well aware. But this time, I promise you, it will not be like the last. People do change; you know that as well as I do.”
Marco takes a breath. “People do change, and with that, their hearts change as well.”
And with that, Marco turns slowly and leaves the room. A sesnse of finality hangs in the air.
Mme. Cordilia returns to studying the tapestry.
» Posted By Dulcie On 08.30.2012 @ 6:13 pm
I am the half-girl
The one who is loving, kind, good, free;
the one who is cynical, too quick to speak, proud, envious.
The one who seems like she doesn’t care what peaople think and
the one who really does.
The one who is open minded and
the one who shuts out every voice but her own.
The one who knows where she is going and
the one who is lost.
The one who refuses to give in to the other half and
the half that refuses to fade away;
not age, maturity, nor the oldest soul in existence
can fight off human nature.
» Posted By Dulcie On 08.27.2012 @ 8:01 pm
I want to be amazed.
» Posted By Dulcie On 08.15.2012 @ 8:36 am
He peers through his camera lense until he spots something worth capturing.
A woman in the park, wearing a dress and tights and a coat and a winter hat.
Carrying a starbucks cup and a book.
He can see her breath in the air, and the faint blush on her cheeks from the cold.
He snaps the shot just as she runs up the library steps.
He keeps the picture in a drawer in his room, and he never forgets the girl.
Twenty years later, they meet again.
» Posted By Dulcie On 08.03.2012 @ 10:41 am
That was the year we remodeled the kitchen cabinets,
because the old ones were too old; the paint was chipping a little and they creaked just barely when you opened them. And my mother said,
“It’s time for a change.”
And that was the year my mother and my father decided not to love each other anymore
because their marriage was old; they still drank coffee together in the mornings but they never kissed on the mouth and they didn’t laugh, even when something was funny. But my mother didn’t say “It’s time for a change.”
She didn’t say anything. She just packed her bags. And left.
» Posted By Dulcie On 07.28.2012 @ 6:50 pm
“But imagine my position, one so cruelly unique.” He laughs a bitter, coughing chuckle. “Imagine, hypothetically, a man being carted in on a stretcher, in critical condition. Blood seeping out on the sheets. He’s crying for help and in pain. Any doctor would spring into action, ready to attempt to save a life,” He takes a labored breath, and slows. “But I already know exactly how and where this man was injured. I already know this man will die. I know the exact second of the exact minute that his heart will stop beating, and this moment is very soon. But I still have to act, to try to save him. All the while knowing my efforts are fruitless. Imagine this happening many, many times,” The man’s voice has grown tired.
“So why do you do it, then? Why even try if you already know the man’s fate?”
“I keep thinking I might change it.”
» Posted By Dulcie On 07.18.2012 @ 4:07 pm
The professor walked a few paces ahead of us.
“And this,” he says as we pass a young man seated behind a desk, “Is my assistant and most trusted adviser.”
The desk is placed in the unlikely area of the middle of the hallway, so our group splits to walk around it. I pass the desk on the inside, my hip brushing the wooden corner. As i step pass the young man, his hand darts out and slips a note into my pocket, so quickly I doubt anyone sees it. I suck in a breath. Is this the sign they meant?
Alone in my room that evening, i open the slip of paper.
But it is blank.
» Posted By Dulcie On 07.11.2012 @ 6:18 pm
And in his tiny kitchen with the blue wallpaper, a day’s worth of dishes piled up in his sink, I came to the sinking realization that I knew almost nothing about this man I had run off with. I knew his favorite color, and his middle name, and that he didn’t eat the crust on his bread (then again, who does?); but little else came to mind after that. Maybe his body was achingly familiar to me now, but his mind, it became clear, was uncharted territory.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.28.2012 @ 7:53 pm
Books. Books and literature, I have learned, are often the distributors of the most ingenious thoughts.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.26.2012 @ 7:29 pm
Oh, you already know what will happen.
You’ll go there tonight, and you’ll stay later than you plan.
He’ll be staring at you across the room all night, trying to work up the courage to come over and speak to you.
When he does, it will be very late and you’ll be tired.
He’ll start off with some cheesy pick up line, and a one-sided chat will ensue.
Now, he may be a genuinely good guy. He’s a little nervous, but he probably isn’t ugly. Not utterly charming, but not repulsive. He’s attentive and flattering. He’d probably be good for you. And under different circumstances, you might decide to give this guy a chance.
It’s too bad that you met me first.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.08.2012 @ 6:02 pm
Under the strobe lights (I used to love coming alive underneath them),
That is where i saw her, at one in the morning,
grinding up against some other guy.
Doubtless she was drunk,
off of beers he had bought her, one after another,
And the pulsing light became my heartbeat, speeding,
and it became little flashes of the moment, which seemed to drag on infinitely,
and it was my eyes blinking, trying to change where i was and who i would be tomorrow.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.07.2012 @ 7:24 pm
Race you to the tree house.
Under green leaves, change to gold, falling on us.
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches near the swing set.
A stolen kiss; a good laugh.
That was us when we were younger.
But everybody grows up.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.06.2012 @ 4:00 pm
They met a year after the Treaty of Versailles was signed. In a tiny cafe in a tiny German town. A tiny American in a crowded town that felt huge and looming, because she didn’t know anybody; it was his hometown. They met in the midst of a harsh peace that was breaking, cracking, under their feet. But the breaking and cracking did not choke their throats as it did to so many. At least, not enough so that they could not speak. They spoke first over coffee. Then over their hands, locked together, swinging to and fro over the sidewalk. Over the grass in a park, over dreams, under clouds, they spoke. They did not always understand each other, but one does not always have to understand to speak, or to laugh, or to fall in love quickly.
» Posted By Dulcie On 06.05.2012 @ 7:17 pm
In the moonlight, her eyelashes.
Drops of rain shimmered on the window, glinting, winking.
Dew on the grass.
We danced on the floor in our bare feet.
We spun, her skirts rustled, whispering.
The stars came out.
A promise parted her lips.
The moments are sliver when they happen.
When they’re over, they are gold.
» Posted By Dulcie On 04.28.2012 @ 7:28 pm
The only one who sees her as she truly is.
A swan amidst geese.
A dove among crows.
» Posted By Dulcie On 04.20.2012 @ 6:18 pm
I remember when I told you about that time when
I dropped my earring and he was next to me
He said, I’ll help you look for it.
We were in class. I knew he fancied me.
He said, What does it look like?
And he pushed my hair behind my ear to look at my other earring,
Lingering a little too long,
His hand near my face. I pulled back.
And when I told you, that expression crossed over your face;
The one I hate now, but back then I was used to it.
And you said,
I’m the only one who can do that.
And that was okay with me.
» Posted By Dulcie On 04.17.2012 @ 6:55 pm
“It was three years ago,” She began. “The walls started shaking, and the floor, the shelves jumped, and the glass figurines housed there fell on the linolium floor. They shattered. My bones rattled in my skin. The glass cut me, the blood was red. The window broke next, when a tree was embeded into it. Leaves rained down through the window; they fell beside the glass. Red, yellow, orange, brown. Because it was autum. One of the figures that fell was a ballerina. She was faceless, nameless; her costume was painted a pale pink, and the paint was chipped. That one was my mother’s.”
» Posted By Dulcie On 04.13.2012 @ 7:38 pm
When you fall asleep inside the circle of his arms,
and you awake but slumber still holds him,
you can’t move, not a muscle.
Your leg is probably full of pins and needles because you’ve slept in the same position all night.
But you can’t move.
You can’t disturb this moment.
Don’t break it. Just breathe it in. This is a moment you can prolong. So hold it in your hands and marvel at it’s simplicity.
» Posted By Dulcie On 04.09.2012 @ 7:16 pm
That day, my hair was lighter than usual. I had worked in the garden the day before with wet cheeks and my hair absorbed the sun as i drank sweet tea amongst the roses.
One thing you should know is that Johnny didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. It was hot outside, and I was tired, and vexed, and the doctor had delivered the news only the week before, and i was melencholy.
The saying ‘misery loves company’ is true. I hated Johnny for not being heartbroken as I was. I knew he cared, but only for me, and not for our dead child. And so i went out of my way to cause him pain. Words didn’t hurt me too much. Real, tangible things hurt me. But words hurt Johnny, and i hurled them at him, I hailed them onto him.
His temper rose. It was noon, the sun was high and it burnt the stale air to a crisp. We were in the kitchen and i was wearing my yellow dress with the miniature roses on it that matched the ones outside the window. I was yelling and he was trying to reason with me, but I couldn’t listen. My cheeks were wet again. And i stoned him with those words. And he got angry with me.
And he raised his hand.
» Posted By Dulcie On 03.25.2012 @ 6:44 pm
In Grandmother’s attic sits a huge old trunk. It’s covered in cobwebs an dust and weak sunlight that strains through the window that looks out over the backyard fence, with the flowery, moth-eaten curtains. Grandmother told me and Augustus that the trunk held nothing more interesting than old documents, files. Instead, we found something much more curious when we stole the heavy rusted key from the vase on top of the fridge and opened the trunk late on a November night. The attic was chilly, the window rattled from the wind, but the anticipation of opening the trunk kept us warm inside, giving us that peculiar feeling, the feeling that only the prospect of adventure and the added uncertainty of being caught can give you, especially when you’re young like us. Like we were then.
» Posted By Dulcie On 03.22.2012 @ 8:42 pm
Back To Stats Page
Chalky walls closing in
pastel paint still drying
sun streaming through the window
and a steel heart falling through the floorboards
this love it though it’d never know
» Posted By Dulcie On 03.16.2012 @ 1:37 pm