the rain went pitter patter, as her heart began to tatter. & as polka dots adorned her plain tee, she tittered. & then littered the puddles with her fears; the pool beneath her swelled from the flow. & as she looked to the wealth of drops that had fallen below, she saw staring back that which frightened her most of all...
he said it’s funny how life works. how many paths it can take. & all the moments that lead up to those possible paths. there are just an infinite number of possibilities. like a tree, with each branch shooting off in its own direction. although, she said, a tree does have a limited amount of branches. but it still works, because the paths we’d actual take are in fact limited anyway. i mean, yes, the possibilities are themselves endless, but there's usally only a few paths we'd really take and those are the ones that are a bit more defined, just like the branches of a tree. well thanks, he said. & she added: besides, there’s only one “branch” i wanted to choose. & which one would that be? he asked. the one that pointed to you, she said. & when she came home later that day, upon their porch sat their potted star magnolia with all but one branch pointing toward her. she smiled--it was a drastic statement but one of love nonetheless.
i know it’s been quite some time now since we last caught up. but i’m hoping you’ll come ‘round again. i miss you sleep. i realize i can be difficult at times with my night owl ways & my false perception of how my caffeine consumption doesn’t affect my sleepiness. but i promise…i pinkie promise if you come back, i’ll make it right between us. i’ll put the pen down at eight & stop the mind-editing by nine. i’ll even change the sheets so they have that mild mix of cotton breeze from the dryer & cedar from the chest -- the scent that helps me breathe in deeply & exhale slowly. & then i’ll slip that worn-out tee over my tousled bed-ready hair & pop on a pair of exhausted tube socks to cover my tootsies…just long enough to warm ‘em up until they’re set free by a quick kick. i’ll pull the blinds down & swivel them closed—pointing up. & then close the heavy drapes right before i close my heavy lids.
so what do you say sleep? can I see you soon? please don’t make me wait…i'll only grow restless, & then we’re sure to never see each other again. & that…that would just be no good. because we’re good together, you & me. & deep down, i think you need me just as much as i need you.
bloated backpacks blocked her view. & then through the window that idled right above her, rode a boy whose face was smooshed up against the glass of the school bus. he seemed to be inflicting this awkward position upon himself; no sign of a bully was present. so she decided to smoosh her face, too, upon the cool glass of her driver-side window. & she then realized the boy could care less about what he looked like or what his jammed up flesh was going through & more about being closer to the world. that's when she decided the boy would grow up pressing a pen to paper, just as his face pressed against the glass, so he could always have a closer look.