My Heart on Your Page This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

September 21, 2009
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I write this sitting in the kitchen sink the only place your tainted hands haven’t touched me. I sit alone with the dirty dishes that feel forgotten too. I poured hot water on my feet to see if they could react. When they did I wondered why they didn’t react and run from you. Why they didn’t pick up my crippled heart and limp away from you. I know the answer all too well but I think if I keep asking maybe my answer won’t be THE answer anymore. I love you and fools in love are blinded. That’s why I didn’t run from you. Goodbye was too hard to say and instead of saying it I gave into my sill y mind ignorant to truth. It was blissful being ignorant. Walking on my floor and dancing lightly stepping on the balls of my feet. Simple pleasures taken away by your cruel skilled hands. No singing into hairbrushes or sleeping on my pillow. It smells too much like you still and I need to heal. The salt soaked cut only deepens and gets agitated by your actions. I can’t just let you off the hook this time because you say your sorry and our inside jokes of my duct taped battle scarred heart doesn’t really seem like a joke anymore. In the beginning sometimes I left messages in the street so even the wanderers would know love is out there. Searching for them just as much as they are searching for it. But now rain-washes away the words as my tears wash away your fingerprints. I smile when I think of how you used to say U was marked yours and now even CSI couldn’t find me a home. They wouldn’t have a clue where to start looking for you. I wonder if anyone has ever died from a broken heart. If pain can force them to stop and give in. I stopped checking my phone an hour ago. Hell if you didn’t want to talk then why would you want to talk now? People say time heals all pain but what happens if time stops does the pain stay the same? I only ask because I have been watching the clock and I swear it stopped twice last time around. It must be confused so used to laughter and joy and now I’m sitting in my sink with no laughter or joy of any kind. I blame you or I’m trying to I’m still working on the thought that perfection is not you and you are not perfection. After so many hours not being good enough it’s hard to think that was all wrong. My stupid sink the corners and steel edges trying to keep me safe. Stupid sink. It’s too late now. So I guess since my phone hasn’t rung you haven’t called yet. Maybe I will just sleep here tonight or at least watch the way the moon changes my tears. Because I’m not ready to get out of the sink yet and I’m not ready to walk in your footsteps. The sink is my home . . . for now.

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futurprez said...
Oct. 5, 2009 at 4:45 pm
I really liked this. I found it very deep! Keep writing!
Tori K. replied...
Oct. 8, 2009 at 10:16 pm
Thank you!
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