“You’re Gentler Than They Said You Would Be,” The Girl Remarked.

You killed my chicken.

Your digital chicken. It’s a game Heather.

You killed my chicken. And didn’t apologize.

It wasn’t on purpose.

You didn’t apologize.

It’s not a real chicken.

You didn’t apologize.

I’m not apologizing for killing a fake chicken in a fake world. It’s not real babe. It’s just a game, please stop acting crazy.

Don’t call me babe when you don’t care about my feelings. You killed my pet in the game and didn’t say sorry. Even when I’ve expressed it so openly that this matters to me.

It shouldn’t! That’s the whole point. This should not be a big deal it’s pixels on a screen!

You’re being disrespectful.

You’re being insane! Get over the bloody chicken!

I’m done.

Thank god.

With us. With this. You don’t take anything that I care about seriously. You’re so above it all.

You’re breaking up with me over a stupid fucking chicken?!?

I’m breaking up with you because you’re mean. If you killed it and said you were sorry, everything would be fine. You choose to act like a dickhead over so many little things like this and I’m tired of it. You try to convince me not to care about something instead of caring about it with me.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Remember the cat puzzle?

Oh how could I forget the stupid cat puzzle.

Even now you get so incredibly upset whenever I’m upset about something. You try to shut me down before I can express I’m unhappy. According to you, I’m not unhappy, I’m just crazy for no reason!

You said it, not me.

Oh, goodbye Dereck. Goodbye.

This won’t bring the chicken back! You’re such an idiot.

Right.

'Sunrise Water Nymphs' by Arthur Prince Spear, (1879 - 1959).

There’s so much I don’t say

I don’t mind when her leather jacket burns my finger tips, that’s just the summer sun gettin’ jealous of us making love in this old red truck. A lick of hell on the way to heaven don’t scare me. Only being without her does.

-Confessions of a Southern Belle

Let her down softly, I say. Let her down softly. The little girl that lives in me enduring this world confined by rancor deserves a gentle bed to die in.

In defense of the comic, whose characters are foolish but whose mind is not. I see her brilliance in the whites of the audience’s smiles, in the wit and the quickness of her responses. I know many serious men with the mask of intelligence hiding a simple and plain nature. I find the opposite quite riveting.

-Confessions of a Ticket Sales Clerk

There is an understanding in burning high rises that only it’s occupants can gather—that the rapid footsteps and baited breath do little for longevity if the staircase is ash and the elevator an oven.

No, the hurried panic is not for survival of the body, but a hunt for another. A body heat almost indiscernible undulating between the flap like flames—like pop ups out of a picture book. You may think it madness to seek heat in a fire, but this is a heat of the soul, a desire to die in embrace. To know a heart beat’s breath against your own.

An understanding that if life must be unkind, you must never let it be alone.

Why do the ones I love keep being taken from me? What have I done to deserve shards of their memory pricking my fingertips like spindles every time I scroll on my phone and see a face that has stolen a piece of them? Their eyes on someone else’s head, their smile creasing someone else’s cheeks, their ginger hair curling around someone else’s ears that don’t fucking look right! I hate that I see you everywhere. I hate more that it’s never you.

These teeth of mine, that I press my tongue against, will outlast my soul. I taste death, how when I die, my crooked jaw will linger here on this earth without me. It haunts me to smile and see a glimpse of what will remain.

I’ve had such wonderful times. I wish I could remember them easier. I wish the brain wasn’t programmed to cling to the worst things we’ve ever experienced, to keep us safe I know, but some things no matter how long you dwell on them you cannot protect yourself from. It’s torture.