Paper and Chalk

She searched for a pen.

Loaded paper into her typewriter,

the ink ribbon missing.

         

She searched for a

marker,

crayon,

pencil,

all mysteriously disappeared.

 

She opened the last drawer,

found chalk.

 

She placed paper and chalk on the table.

Sat and stared,

preparing herself.

Hesitance clear as glass

in the set of her shoulders.

She shook free of resistance,

picked up the chalk.

 

She opened her heart,

wrote their story.

 

She wrote about a boy

with piercing green eyes.

She told of his

all-encompassing smile,

 his heart opened for her.

         

She wrote about flutters

upon his mentioned name,

weakness of her legs in his proximity.

 

She told of undying,

unconditional love.

 

She cried as she wrote

of every aspect of him.

         

She wrote of his giving nature,

his caring heart.

How trusting his heart,

perhaps too trusting.

She painfully talked of

his unfortunate

savior complex,

the illusion held of

having to save everyone.

 

She told of trust

which broke him.

 

She described her,

their friend,

her devilish charisma

enveloping his being.

She explained in detailed,

heart-wrenching clarity,

her spoken deception,

false need for help

thrust upon him,

lamb to the slaughter of love.

She detailed in anguish

their argument.

Fate dancing

unseen in the night,

the slamming car door,

squealing of tires meeting road.

 

She wrote of mistakes,

the accident,

crunching metal,

shattering glass,

bloody intake of breath.

 

She trembled while describing

the cries of sirens in the distance,

speeding through the misty eve.

She, in perfect recall, told of

the ringing of a phone,

the voice on the other end,

the end of the line.

She talked of

shattering of a heart,

loss of hope,

broken promised future.

 

She wrote of machines,

beeping, shrieking,

giving way to

haunting, flatline.

 

She wrote about a boy

with piercing green eyes,

chronicling with

paper and chalk.

The boy who opened her heart.

The girl who conned him.

 

The argument.

The accident.

The phone call.

The death.

 

She wrote of an end,

a death,

her death.

Her accident,

her foolish behavior,

his horrible loss.

 

In the end

she allowed wind

to blow away,

the memories,

the pain,

the words of their story.

In the end

he let the wind

carry her ashes away,

his hopes,

his dreams,

his love with her.

Like chalk on paper.

Photo credit: jtChatter: Feb 12, 2012

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