Stale, that’s how his kiss tasted. He’s got such a pretty face, but his heart’s decrepit. He’s lost his passion; his life has no flavor. But the girls they chase him, thinking they can add a little seasoning to his bland existence. Me, I know better. I watch him from the corner of my eye as he puffs smoke into the damp night. Me, I won’t get too close, afraid I’ll catch whatever he has. Some strange ailment that makes you forget that you’re even living.

But those eyes are electrifying and his smile could resurrect the dying. Ok, so he’s nice to look at, nothing more than that. I tell myself to stop staring for fear I might start caring. My feet stay in one spot, while my eyes follow him madly. I try to control myself, but I can’t help myself. I want him.

His feet shift towards me, his eyes are pleading–join the army of those fighting to save me. But I’ve got my own battles and he’s already becoming all too important. His breath escapes, so warm and inviting. It catches me off guard to see how close he’s standing. This isn’t the first time we’ve played this game but it’s the first time I feel like I’m losing.

Maybe he needs me. Maybe I’m special. I could be the reason he gets his life together. He could become my everything. I could make him something. Maybe together, we could do anything.

And it’s colder, but he looks even hotter. But really, should that matter. I’m biting my lip as he’s licking his. And I know it’s going to happen, we’re finally going to kiss. No words are spoken; none are needed. I wanted him for way too long; maybe I was a fool for resisting. Maybe I judged him wrong. He looked so sweet, just like his scent. I’m thinking I can fix him, make him see things will get better. Am I chasing his heart, or is he chasing mine?

I feel him pull me close and my body’s shaking. I’m so turned on and my blood starts racing.

It didn’t take long before my blood runs chill. I back away slowly as I lose my thrill. All the nights I spent fantasizing, I knew they’d be wasted.

Stale, that’s how his kiss tasted.


Oh the rain

I prefer to write when it rains; maybe it is the pitter patter that soothes me into a calm, clears my head, makes me stop thinking so I can think of other things, things apart from me, things deep within me. Maybe it’s the coldness, the damp, the chilly breeze in the air that makes you sense the weather is changing, makes you sense your own spirit’s changing. Could it be the way the little raindrops casts a spell on the city, driving them all back inside, hushing them into a lull. Perhaps it’s the sudden thunder that rumbles my imagination, or the lighting that startles out plots and characters I thought were hidden.


I can’t put my finger on it, but when it rains I write. This is why, when I saw this wordpress theme I felt as though someone was telling me to write more often. Not because I have a lot to say, or even because it’s worth reading, but for practice, or maybe my own sanity. The thing is, I love my current theme and wasn’t planning on changing it. But I’ve never seen a theme like this; not only is it beautiful, it speaks to the writer in me. I’m on the fence about it for now. What makes you decide on your themes? Does it matter to you at all what your theme looks like? How often do you change your theme? I have one blog, where I change it seasonally; others, like this one, I let be.

Themes don’t make the blog, content does, but I love when I visit a blog or website that has a unique theme. It makes me want to stay.

It’s raining now, and that enough for me, it’s perfect me. But for days that are all too sunny, I might need a rainy day theme to help water my imagination, maybe something worthwhile might bloom as a result.