Dezlboi

Personal letters left unsent. Secret feelings and unrequited love can lead to quite exquisite pain...

I felt cold sitting sideways on the window-seat looking out over the front lawn as the last flurries fell gently from the light gray sky. I glanced about, looking for the patchwork quilt I usually kept on the bench but I had forgotten to return it last time and I didn't want to move from my seat, so perfect a vantage point for the serene scene on the other side of the glass. I shivered just a bit as I relished the relaxing Sunday afternoon without a single trace of the usual disquieting thoughts

Jon, I'm quite sure you will never read this letter. I'm writing it barely 10 feet from you as I sit at this little desk in the hotel room and you sit over on one of the beds next to Adam, one of your teammates; but you might as well be a thousand miles away. Maybe the space between us would be better measured in years. Maybe you just don't feel any connection to me at all, I honestly can't tell. I'm a mess, though I hide it well from you and the rest of the guys. I'm broken, like an old

Ben jumped at the unexpected tingle at his right thigh and rummaged in the pocket of his cargoes for his vibrating cell phone. Afraid to look at the number on the front display, he knew who the caller was and he just didn't have the emotional fortitude today to handle the conversation he knew was coming. Just like yesterday when his stomach was bothering him too much, and on Saturday when he had a headache. He'd take care of it soon, he promised himself, or maybe it was the caller he promised, o

Snapshot from a life in transition. 2007 Anthology

snapshot from a life in transition The world outside the long passenger car window was dark and unwelcoming to Beckett, who sat sullenly on the train gliding smoothly east, carrying him to his new life. The idea that everything he owned in this world was stored in a few rolling suitcases somewhere below him or in the backpack at his feet caused a small knot of nervous nausea just below his navel. It wasn't that his old apartment or his computers or his CD collection gave him some great com

Part III I knelt on the curb, doubled over, the silent scream of anguish hanging on my lips as my brain tried in vain to shut out the horror of what I just witnessed. If I had just been sliced from waist to chin and I was now struggling to keep my guts from tumbling out onto the pavement, could I be in any more pain than I was just then? I doubt it - but did the exact measure of my grief really matter? I would never move from this spot; I would either kneel for eternity - how would Dante h

Part II "Thank you for returning this," I tell him, tucking my wallet into my back pocket and sitting down on the concrete park bench across from my little "stalker". Okay, that's a very unfair characterization...he did meet me in a neutral location, he did return my wallet, and he hasn't done anything weird to me yet, so I suppose I shouldn't be suspecting anything from him. I just have a deeply ingrained distrust of anyone who does something for me, and doesn't have a clear motive for doi

Part I Someone with a case of the flu has taken a leak in my glass. That’s what it looks like to me, anyway...whenever I have the flu, it turns my piss a sort of deep orange-yellow color, from dehydration, maybe, I dunno. Not a very appetizing thought, but then, I wasn’t in a very good mood to begin with, so I suppose it stands to reason that I’m seeing this glass in my hand as full of piss instead of the scotch I’ve been nursing. I’d get up off of the window bench in my livingroom if I

A troubled man makes an unusual and unexpected friend when he least wants or expects it.

Jeff is coaxed out of self-induced exile and finds himself unknowing of which way to turn.

At six a.m. precisely, he opened his eyes slowly and he stretched out to his full five-foot-eight-inch length while letting out a gentle yawn. Years of this ritual, going to sleep at ten to get a full eight hours of rest, meant that he didn’t even need to set an alarm. In fact, he didn’t even keep one in his room. He swung his legs out over the floor, and sat up on the edge of the bed, giving his blood a moment to redistribute so he didn’t get a head rush. Closing his eyes again for a

Chapter Two Ben looked at me for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes showing a complicated mix of hurt, offense, and...guilt? I wasn't sure about that last bit, but I really got the impression that he was wavering between feeling like he had really fucked up, and being angry that I could explode at someone like that just for knocking on my door. "Well, I gotta get to class," he mumbled, and shuffled back down the hall. Jesus FUCK, I cursed silently. I couldn't believe that fuckn

Chapter One I flipped up the collar of my blue jacket as I crossed Hanover Street at the crosswalk. I was trying to ward off a bit of the cold but the upturned corduroy collar wasn't much help as the rain half-heartedly pelted me from above. Spring showers in New England – fifty degrees and wet, not cold enough to freeze you, but not warm enough to be comfortable either, just nestled right in the middle, at an irritating chill. "Why does it rain every fucking day?" I muttered to myself. It

A poem. A little erotic.