Bleached Walls and Crimson Ghosts

I look around me. White walls, white chair, white coats and medical masks, silver, sharp instruments. The dentist has kind eyes peeking behind his glasses, it’s the only part of his face i can see. He signals that it’s time. I clutch the armrests and slowly open my mouth, the bloody cave it has become. My teeth hang by their nerves, desperate for repair. They are cracks and small and my hands shake when i softly touch them with the tip of my tongue. My body feels hollow and frail, my mind clouded with a blue haze of pain. He starts using a sharp tool to poke around. The soft gums split, the teethe wobble, the nerves burn. My eyes roll backwards as blood gushes, soaked up by the little cotton balls stuffed into every empty space. He prods and pulls on nerves, cutting them off as they are no longer needed, they have died. My scream of my nerves shrills in my ears, a screeching whistle of ache. I am tied down with green straps. The nurses warned me and decided it would be best because I have no pain-killers, no anaesthesia, just my balled up fists to fight the pain.

Bruised pt 2

My mother and father twitch nervously, waiting for what I have to say. I practice the lines in my head as I pace back and forth in front of them. My speech was perfect as I practiced in front of the mirror, now nothing sounds quite right. I can’t find the words to describe the magnitude of my regret or worry, I bite my lip and choke at the thought of actually speaking, but I do. I forget my carefully chosen words, my secret escapes my lips like blood from a wound: painfully spilling out. I wait for the response but it does not come, I start shooting explanations, anything that will take away the silence. But as my mother’s tears fall, I know better than to linger.

I sit in my bedroom, hands clasped in prayer when the door opens and light streams in. I lower my head in shame at the silhouette of my parents. They come inside and sit beside me, my father with his kind eyes, my mother with her caring worries. I find their arms around me in a warm embrace, instantly bringing back the guilt. My tears surge and drip onto my shirt, my father hushes my sobs and strokes my hair, telling me it will be okay, he will look after me. My mother holds me tight; she talks of God’s love for his children, and how I am just as worthy as anyone else. How she and my father are here to guide me, all I have to do is let them. Her loving words ring in my ears until they are all I can hear, like an addictive melody on repeat, carrying me off into deep slumber.

& The Stars hold my Fortune.

I lay in bed the other day, thinking about the distant future.
I started imagining the married life, and how I would cope.
You see, I'm afraid of marriage. Afraid of committing oneself to another for a lifetime.
What if something goes wrong? I guess I'm too self centered to understand right now.
What if I never find the right man? Obviously, I wont get married. But what if I get married to the wrong man? I lay awake thinking of all the things I yearn for in a future husband, and I couldn't find a definite answer.

I could imagine perfect scenarious, like me holding onto his flannel robe as we slow dance in the kitchen at 2AM, no music, just the sound of the stray cats tinkering on the streets.
I could see us see us sitting in a bare house, dusty floors and cardboard boxes all over the place, the only thing unwrapped: a wooden piano, which he plays perfectly for me.
I could imagine us jumping on beds, tickle fights on the carpeted floor, milk and cookies at midnight.
It took some strength and imagination, but after I stirred up the image of a child, it was hard to stop. Holding a baby with him holding me, braiding a little girls hair and watching a boy's football game, heart to heart talks with a teenager, worry, stress, and love. So much love. Enough that it bursts out from the seams and drowns us in care and fear. Enough to make our whole universes' dedicated to them. So much love. So much love that it hurts.

He must be out there somewhere, possibly dreaming of me as I dream of him. Knowing that one day, we will find each other.