It's All in Your Head.

I haven't thought about it in a long time, but it alway seems so familiar when I do. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one or if maybe, just maybe, I'm there too. I try not to think about it too much because there have been numerous times when I've become consumed with the thought. I lose sight of reality and create this fictional world in my head where I live in conscious and unconsciously. But then I wake up and realize that living in the past, although safe and sound, is just a way to run away from the unknown, unstable future.  And that's good for no one.

Europe Seems So Long Ago.

It seems that the monotony of life is constantly getting me down and the only way to escape it is to check in my luggage and sit on a plane that will take me just about anywhere.

This Heart Belongs in a Different Chest.

If I could cough out my heart and lock it in a box, I would definitely do that right about now.

It's six-o-clock on a Wednesday evening and I'm drunk.

Yeah, that's love for you.

I seem to wear melancholy so well.

Oneword: Squint.

It was bitter cold out. The kind that eats at your fingers, chomps at your knuckles. The rain fell, mixed with snow, engulfing the city in slush. Without the sun it was hard to see what was coming in front of me. All I knew was that there were four more lights to go before I was to turn right. My knees were protesting every step of the way, but I was late. Very late.

He wanted me to stay longer. Tempted me with a quick homemade dinner. Grilled chicken on his city patio barbecue with a side of baked potatoes and corn on the cob. A bottle of red wine between the two of us in his cozy living room, his puppy by my side.

He wanted me to stay a little longer. Puppy on the floor, his body resting on top of mine. Hands up my untucked blouse. Lips enfolding mine. Legs around his waist and I stayed too long.

My cellphone rang and I had to go. I would call.

A car honked right before I crossed the street. I couldn't see a thing.

After the fourth light, I turned down my street, sloshing through the walkway to the house. I squinted against the drops that were sticking to my cheeks before gravity made them drip down. I could see you standing there. The door was half open, you were waiting since you called. Your jacket was already on and you met me halfway down the path. The pit of my stomach began violently turning.

Your eyes were wide, wild. You met me and slapped me hard across the face.

"You little bitch!" Flecks of spit hit my face. My cheek feels like raw flesh.

"You lying, little bitch!" You repeat and I'm stunned.

"You're fucking him! I knew you were fucking him!" You came at me again and slapped the same spot. I was sure I was bleeding.

You grabbed my face, inches away, and I flinched against your grip, "You're fucking done," you spit and push me backward. It hit the ground shaking and shocked and watched you walk down the street, disappearing between a billion drops of sleet.

The words were slow to come out. Molasses sticking to the roof of our mouths.

Baby?

Baby.

Your berry pink fingernails danced around my bellybutton, hand resting right below.

Family.

We were finally going to have one of our own.