Creative Writing, Poetry, The Fine Line

Too Late

He held me tight, but for too long,
Held me just right, it was so wrong.
The time was way off, he was too late, or maybe he was early. He was definitely late.

He is the man I long for in this moment. He was the man of my mind, the man of my dreams, the companion of my soul, the essence of my being. Maybe I’m being a little extreme but these are the thoughts he gives to me. I won’t have him though, I know that now.

And do you hear my heart? Can you hear it scream?
He is the love of my past, and my lover at last. But it won’t last. No, it won’t last.

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Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Bedroom Mess

She liked having a tidied bedroom because it compensated for her untidied mind. When she came around from a night of violent passion and naked limbs, she woke him up and told him to leave.

She pressed her bruised thigh and sighed as he got up. She threw a bloodstained white shirt at his face.

She breathed slow and imagined a tidy room. It settled her. She took a shot. She began to pick up and put away and sweep and tie and throw out all of yesterday’s memories. He’d left and she was alone, in the midst of her thoughts.

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