Invisible Me

Hello, I am your new neighbor, I met you last week.  I don't expect you to remember me
because you would not hold my gaze and dismissed me abruptly when I introduced
myself to you.  Were you having a bad day?  Was it me?  Do you even care to know
who I am?

I am an ordinary woman, with dirty-blond hair I cannot tame, a crooked smile and, below
my left ear spreading down my neck, a birthmark the shape of the continent of Africa.
There is, of course, so much more about me that you will mostly likely never know.
I surely noticed you and since our brief meeting you fill every waking thought I have.
Your handsome face infiltrates my dreams.  I cannot escape the image of you, nor do
I want to.

I see you now walking up the up the stairs to the front porch that we share, the only thing
we have in common.  I covertly watch you behind my shuttered window.  I do not
exhale in fear that the breath that crosses my lips might give me away.  I hear your door
close behind you.  Walking over to the wall that separates your loveliness from me, I
press my ear to the cold plaster, and listen for you.

*K.I.S.S.

Everyone is familiar with the acronym "K.I.S.S." (keep it simple stupid).  Well, I'd like
to but can't, especially when it comes to conversation.  I have the bad habit of giving
entirely too much information about myself, and tend to dish out multiple views
on a subject matter.

Now, if conversations were actually kisses, mine would be long, drawn out and
complex.  I have been accused of taking the listener on a ride around the barn,
through the orchard and back, only to end up sitting on the fence.  I need to coral
my thoughts and harness my tongue, then it would be a better "KISS" for everyone.

*A Belief Lost

I met my soul mate on February 12, 1996.  On June 16, 2006 at 11:55 a.m., he slipped
from my arms forever and at that very moment I forgot how to breathe for a week.

He was a dog.  A canine with amber eyes and an old soul.  He understood me all
to well.  Our love for each other was unconditional.  In his eyes I could do no wrong
and neither he to me.  No jealousy, no judgment, no surrendering of expectations.
Just two souls enjoying the uncritical pleasure of each others company.

Do I believe that soul mates exist between a man and a woman?  Personally, I do
not as human nature is too selfish and crude.  Selfishness breeds disrespect and
and a deep love cannot, and will not, tolerate such.  Call me jaded because you will never
catch me holding my breath, ever again.

Ain't I Precious

My thoughts run deep and fast at three in the morning.  A time when the world outside is quiet and I can think without distraction.  Light from the kitchen pours down the hallway to a picture on the wall of me when I was eight.  Standing with a neighbor boy, I'm wearing cowboy boots, cut off jeans, bathing suit top and a baseball cap.

Not that I didn't like having girls as friends, I just had a hard time relating to all that which was soft and lady-like.  Now that I'm a woman, I still find it difficult.  I had a mare once that was sweet and affectionate one minute, only to turn and drive me through the fence the next.  That has been my experience with girlfriends.  Shopping malls and beauty salons are foreign territory for me.

While most women love books of romantic love, I always preferred the raw and the tragic.  One story I enjoyed was of a cowboy in Montana who got caught in a
blinding blizzard a couple miles from his home.  He lost his sense of direction and didn't
want to make the fatal mistake of pressing forward.  He slit open the abdomen of his horse and crawled inside to keep from freezing to death.  In the morning, when the storm had cleared, he found his way home only to slip on the ice and hit his head on the crude metal boot scraper bolted to the porch.  He bled out right there at his front door.  That's what he gets for leaving a bar at 2:00a.m. in foul weather.  He shouldn't have gone out drinking in the first place. 

My eyes now fall on a current picture of me taken nine months ago outside a nightclub.  A friend took it with a disposable camera, enlarged it and gave it to me for my birthday.  He said he like it because I look happily exhausted.  Funny, I don't remember feeling that way, or for that matter, what I felt at all.  I have more often been a friend to the opposite sex than a lover.  It's okay, I gave up the idea of being a sex symbol like Marilyn Monroe when I was fourteen, I knew it would not happen.  Although I clean up real pretty, have the manners of a debutante and the grace of an angel at times, I have never once been called precious by a man or anyone else.

About Random Shorts

ran'dom  lacking order; haphazard.   With the thoughts that flow from my mind and my unruly misuse of grammar, I will attempt to write short stories and prose.  I tend to write fast and furious so what you see is crude and unedited...I'll get to it eventually.