Month: November 2011

Dear Blackberry… because I can’t call you.

i write this letter, a heartbroken woman.

you see, i’ve come to a realization. a rather solemn and depressing one i’m finding, that it’s not me Black, it’s you. when we started this unexpected relationship, we were perfect. you were so much of what i wanted: smart, worldly, good looking, nice package, and we got along famously, you and i. i knew exactly what buttons to push and which not, to get what i wanted. you always made sure i was always happy. and i appreciated you in ways no one before you has ever seen, Black. i took care of you. like new Love usually is, we were inseparable. like a doting wife i always made sure you had enough energy, even bought you fresh gear a time or two, cleaned after you, everything.

and as i look at your blank stare i now realize that it was all for naught. you didn’t appreciate me the way you were supposed to. i told you all my secrets, gave page after page to your memory for you to hold dear. you knew my family, and all the secrets my friends made me promise to never share. even sent sexy pics sometimes just to make you smile, since you seem to like Curves.


Sliding Doors: Part IX


if you’re new to the Sliding Doors series, you can find previous installments riiight ^ there next to “About.”

as always, comments are awesome, and sharing is caring. :-)



December 2010 

“You look sick, son.”

The old man’s voice was an ancient river, running thick and heavy with wisdom; always slow and deliberate, on his own time. Nigel looked out the immaculate window at the deceptively bright day, the sun’s smile glinting off the last traces of last week’s snowfall.

His own smile had left two weeks ago. Gone with the wind, or some sick abortion clinic in California.

“I’m cool.” He adjusted his sweater, classic argyle hiding his seeping heart.


His mind was too full, heavy as the bags of salt that weighted his car down this winter. His father wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand the strength it took to be here today, just to stand and be present without being reminded of that woman.

Jade was a poison. A jagged stab in his side. The type of nagging pain that ate at you, a vulture over a rotting carcass.

Fuck her. His mind had this biting stand-by on auto-reply each time he felt the nip of sadness trying to creep in.

“Come here, son. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Nigel stopped, turned to face the man who gave him his black stare, his sharp nose, his acute temper. He kept his face mute, stone. “I said I’m cool, Joe.”