CharlieI had a stalker.More Like This
I didn't know his name but I'm sure he knew mine.
I called him Charlie.
He always had a camera hanging from his twig thick neck and he cradled it in his hands; a wispy finger stroking the shutter release. His dark brown hair was a curly mess and his shirts wrinkly and thin. He had the most perfect eyebrows, sweeping and gentle. He must have the most captivating eyes, I thought every time he'd glance my way. We'd never made eye contact. Charlie preferred it that way.
He came into the bookstore once a week, not to watch me leaf through the used books or reach high to shelve the approved ones, but to actually browse them. He read the unknowns; the virgins with their unbroken spines. I imagine he liked the smell of them aromas preserved for him alone. Charlie appreciated the books wearing dusty coats and factory perfume a decade old.
The rest of the time he spent on the outside looking in. My co-workers were tickled pink. "What a geek." "Poor guy doesn't realize you
is it blissful?uncertainty pulledMore Like This
the pin from the grenade
like he pulled the pin
from her hair
and locks fell like silk
waterfalls upon her shoulders,
future happiness fell
like shrapnel, embedding into
the inevitability shook
like war as they shook together
like love shakes every fiber in
our being to convince us of
some things do last forever.
but the days die
as soldiers quiver in their wounds,
regrets that dig deeper the longer
they live entangled in one another
until they die too, eyes fixing into
each others starless nights.
and how gently they went,
he from her, her from him.