Sweet as Honey

I’m an open book. I scream and cry and say things that I shouldn’t say. I dump out my feelings like they’re trash into people’s ears. I wear my heart on my sleeve just to see it break.

But Honey is different. Honey never loses her temper, never argues. She lets me do whatever I want, just watches with a smile on her face. Honey doesn’t cry. She’s strong and sturdy like a rock. I know I can always lean on her. Honey is calm and patient. Whenever I was upset, she’d put a hand on my shoulder and it made everything better. She’d listen to me talk for hours and hours. I don’t know how she put up with me for all these years. Honey is pretty like the flowers and diligent like the bees that pollinate them.  

Honey has a jar in the pit of her stomach where she keeps all of her secrets. Sometimes I wish the glass would break and the sweetness  would spill out so I could see just what she’s hiding. I want to be her rock. I want to be the one she can lean on. I want to listen to her like she did for me. 

One day, the lid will pop off and I’ll watch the sugary substance fall, drop by drop. Because just as Honey waited for me all these years, I will wait for her.

…

Tranquillo

It was almost as if the sky was crying with me. A drop of water landed on the lens of my glasses. I realized I’d left my umbrella inside as I was in a rush to get out. I needed to clear my head. So many thoughts: melodies, chords, and everything I couldn’t write, wasn’t allowed to write. There was only so much time left before the deadline. I had to think of something.

The late night London streets were empty. Dark and mysterious. Beautiful. I closed my eyes and listened. There was the soft breath of a flute in the cold breeze. The staccato of raindrops sounded like the plucking of violin strings. The sloshing of water–a timpani. I could write a hundred symphonies, yet not a single word.

When I opened my eyes, there was another pair staring right back. They were bright yellow with a hint of mischief behind them. I could make out the outline of a black cat leaning against a lamp post. It tilted its head like it was asking me a question. I only sighed. 

Another set of yellow eyes appeared. Then another. And another. There were eyes everywhere. In front of me, behind me, above me. They were judging, scrutinizing, seeing right through me. I couldn’t take it anymore. The sound of the rain was deafening. The stars were too bright. I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking. 

Then I blinked, and they were gone. There was nothing except the rain. I sighed. I must be going insane.

…

Moving On

My first ever best friend was warm. She was soft and fuzzy, blue with little polka-dots all over. She had a few stitches weaved into her skin that looked like braids. We went everywhere together: she sat on the backseat right next to me on the way to school, and she’d pick me up after a long day. Every night before I fell asleep, I’d tell her my darkest secrets, my hopes and dreams, my deepest desires. I squeezed the stuffing out of her and cried until she was damp with my tears. Then she disappeared. Maybe it was my grandma who threw her away, or maybe it was just time for her to leave. I realized that I didn’t really need her anymore. There was a hole in my heart that could be filled with other things, things that make me happy. I might have let go of her too soon, but I will never forget my best friend.

…

A Window of Opportunity

You must never leave the palace. That’s what they always told her, the king and queen. She never saw them as her parents, just the king and queen. You must never leave the palace. So she spent her days wandering the castle gardens talking to grasshoppers. Sometimes she played chess with the butler and hid some of his pieces. She even tried to force the chef to spill his recipes, but was dragged out of the kitchen before she could bribe him. You must never leave the palace. But she wanted to know what lies beyond the sunset that painted her bedroom window. She wanted a handsome prince to come and whisk her away, away from the suffocating walls of the castle and into the bustling city or an open green meadow. You must never leave the palace. When she turned sixteen, her parents’ words echoed in her head. With a gleam in her eye, she swung her leg over the windowsill and ran into the distance, leaving her old life behind.

…

There’s No Place Like Home

“Do you ever get homesick?”

My colleague huffs out a sigh and drops his bag on the ground with a thump. A cloud of white particles covers his face. Some of the dust sticks on his nose and I have to press my lips together to hide a chuckle.

“You ask too many questions.”

“I miss how it was back on Earth. The grass was so vibrant and green. The clouds were so fluffy I wanted to pluck them out of the sky. And then the sea…so vast and mysterious.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Life was so much easier back there. I mean, if I wanted a sandwich I’d just walk to the bakery on the corner of the street. Now all we have are these disgusting food packets that taste like unflavored beef jerky. I realize that I took so many things for granted. Like electricity and water and sourdough bread.”

“Can you help me move the bags, at least?”

“It’s so boring here. I can’t believe you’ve lived here for 15 years. What do you do all day? Do you work? I bet you work all day.”

I sling one of the sacks over my shoulder.

“You must really like it here. Would you ever want to go back?”

I drop the bag. I try to meet his eyes, but white smoke blocks my vision.

“Maybe I’d like to go back one day.”

“Really? What’s waiting for you back home?”

“Nothing. But it’s still home.”

…