Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

Grad school and relationships

have the same process.


You fall in love, even though

you said you wouldn’t


when he left you on the stairs

Monday morning,

not even an apology text after.

He didn’t want to give you

a chance,

even after he paid for dinner

and listened to your life story—


He pretended he didn’t know

your name.

you became a statistic,

a Facebook friend,

a paper tucked underneath

all the others.


You hear about someone

just outside of town.

He is looking for someone—

but you know it can’t be you.


No one thinks you have

the right credentials.

You should just find a job

and stay home.


You decide to send him a letter



Almost don’t include the return address.

When rejection is guaranteed

it takes the edge of

the deep-rooted



He calls you.

Your face buzzes,

a moment packed with

so much—



on the phone’s heat


After the first date,

he moves in.

The talk of children—

you lose your appetite

for the left over pizza

in the fridge.


You are too tired to make love,

but he doesn’t understand.

he wants to see more of you,


He gives you a ring,

and you stay up

flipping through the

wedding magazines,

writing down vendors,

asking your friends what they think.

Their opinions

Their ideas,

Their feedback.


You don’t know how you feel

about anything.


You don’t remember what it’s like

to have nothing to do,

to have a moment where

you aren’t falling behind.

The date is rolling towards you

like a runaway wheelbarrow.

You don’t know if you should

try to stop it

or run away.


But in the middle of the night,

the moon is between

the tree branches

and nothing needs to happen

right now,


And you feel him next to you,

stuck in a dream,

But he is suddenly

the most real part

of you.


When he turns over in bed—back to you

and you are wide awake,

You trace his spine

with your fingers

and feel his warmth.

It isn’t until then

you realize

you have never loved anything

quite this much.



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What is real

I often can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction.  I believe in everything.  It’s not healthy.  I get worked up about things a lot because of how much I believe.

Tonight I watched the show Fact or Fiction where they show you stories that are either true or false, and you get to guess which is which until they reveal it at the end.  But this one story drew me in so deeply that I became emotionally attached.

There was a couple who was looking for a house to start a family in. The husband was happy with any nice starter home and he accepted the fact they had a budget. But the wife kept having these dreams about a particular house. And her dreams felt so real, that she couldn’t shake them off. She knew this was the perfect house. The only house. She could touch the counters, the walls, the doors. She saw every detail. She fell in love.

Her husband told her this house was not real and that it can’t be real and that she needs to let go. Besides, it wouldn’t fit their budget. But the wife couldn’t stop having these dreams.

One afternoon the couple was driving, and the wife yelled, “That’s it! That’s it! Stop the car!!” And she practically threw herself out of the car while it was moving.  She ran into the house, with her husband running after her.        This is the moment I knew the story was real.  I felt this before.  I knew exactly what this woman felt.  And it’s not déjà vu.  It’s knowing that sometimes impossible things just happen.

Her husband was shouting that she can’t just run into someone’s house.  The wife grabs her husband’s hand. “Let me show you the balcony! You will love the view. Oh and there is a pool!” She knew how to get everywhere in the house.

In the front hall a woman walks up to them. “Hello there, are you interested in buying this house?” she asks. “Yes we are!” The wife chips, as her whole spirit lights up. “It just went up for sale one day ago,” the woman explains.  “We’ll take it!” the wife exclaims, smiling at her shocked husband. “This isn’t in our budget…” the husband says, with a stern, confused look. The realtor tells them she will talk to the owners and tell them the couple’s offer. The wife holds her breath.

“They gave specific instructions to accept the first offer,” explained the realtor when she came back.  The wife couldn’t stop smiling, but the husband knew there was a catch. The realtor answered the husband’s look.  “The owner says this house is haunted.” The husband and wife look at each other, and the wife jumps in, “I don’t care! We’ll take it!” The owners come to meet the husband and wife in the kitchen.  The woman who owns the house stops short, and her eyes grow wide. “You–“ she points at the wife.            “You are the one who has been haunting this house.”

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