Survivor's guilt

It's not that I was driving. It's the fact that she was home and I begged her to come. She said she couldn't and I kept pushing. And she came. And we had fun. And then we crashed. I'm fine. She isn't.
And it is the pain and suffering she is in that is killing me. It is my complete helplessness. It is the empty words I tell her to help her fight. Empty, tasteless words when all I want to do is delete that day and spare her this experience.
It's not that I was driving. No, it isn't that, because that crash was inevitable. I couldn't have done anything to avoid it.
It's that she was home, safe, and I begged her to come.
Forgive me, because I can't forgive myself.

Stillness

Stillness. Rippling thoughts.
Stillness. Raging emotions.
Stillness. Racing heartbeats.
Stillness takes over a screaming mind. To haunt and torture. To conquer and control. To render helpless and mute.
Stillness.
A desperate soul.

The Dance

She twirls and dances.
Happily swaying her hips and arching her neck. Daintily placing her hand in his, shyly  making eye contact then floating away again. Raising her arms above her head, proudly flaunting her moves, like a graceful swan. Closing her eyes. Losing herself to the beats. Feeling the music vibrate through her body. A smile breaks across her face, drawing lines of genuine happiness across every feature on her face. Her dress spreads around her like a hallow, making her look naughtily angelic.
He watches her.
He sees her. A fragile porcelain doll. Easily breakable. And as easily fixable. Her eyes tell stories of pain he dares not imagine, but her smile tells another story of resilience. Her dancing is that of a little girl, but her embrace is that of a grown woman. When their eyes meet, she lowers them quickly, lest she let him see inside her soul. But what she fails to understand is that he has already seen every angle of her. He knows her inside out. Just as well as he knows how she will sway her body next, just as well as he knows that she will reach for him in a minute, her back against his chest, pulling his arms around her, resting her head on his shoulder .
He knows her.
She knows him.
And in that alone lies their blessing and their curse.

They dance.

Carved Bow

The seconds passed slowly. The minutes passed slower. Only her heart beat kept accelerating, making her desperation more evident. With every moment of silence, her dread increased. Her fears multiplied. Even the lines on her face deepend. Even the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. The lightness in her step disappeared.
She had nothing. She owned nothing. She held on to illusions and fantasies and believed them. But they always slipped from between her fingers before she could savor them. Every time she raised her head, she was blinded by every truth she ignored, by every doubt she encouraged, by every trust that was broken. So she stooped again. Lower and lower until her back was bent. Arched like a bow, she moved along smoothly, fooling everyone into believing she was sparkling. A beautifully carved bow, shining like no other.
She either did not understand the world, or the world did not understand her. Because she thought she had it all figured out. She knew the rules by heart. Do no harm. Be kind. Learn your lessons. Choose right. But it wasn't a matter of her choices really. Because she always chose right. So it must be, that they chose wrong. It must be, that she was wrong. It must be. Because, that was the only explanation that made sense.
She was wrong.

Not you

When will the ghosts of past failures depart? When will disappointments stop casting their ugly shadows on moments that elicit nothing more than normalcy?
The sun sinks slowly but surely, darkening the sky, coloring the horizon, secretly saddened by its departure, proudly stubborn in its retreat. A rainbow of darkness, ultimately moving on to a new destination, robbed of its right to choose where to remain. Searing boldness and mesmerizing beauty, withdrawing with quivering passion. Renewing its presence hopefully, only to be rejected once again.
And so it sets and rises, gracefully.
Touching nothing. Touching everything.