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- 01/10/2013
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
I dreamed of Meg Ryan - 3. Chapter 3
If
I
Could
Slap my thigh
And tap my foot
And click my fingers…
Would the words mean more.
If my heart was a trumpet
My teeth piano keys
My hair fireworks
Would you notice.
Well.
If I left your bed
If I made one cup of …
My dreams are not my own sometimes.
They turn to the reality of my other.
I was as confused as you. Maybe I lacked the strength. I just didn’t know what to do.
But I tried.
How I tried.
Meg Ryan knows all about my one true love as she calls him.
Or the Loser, Tease, Asshole, Idiot, Moron, that basically dumped me.
Abandoned… left… walked away… left the empty place I returned too.
But I dream in that moment I held him. With my lips on his skin. It could of all been so different.
I didn’t have the words. I didn’t have the composure. I didn’t have a clue.
When you have to hide what you want and when you can’t wish upon a star… what do you do.
I tell myself to tell myself to stop.
But part of me will always be holding on. In that bed with my own mystery.
Of misery.
Nothing is wasted. Miss Boo would say.
She told me the story of WiggleSmith. A poor country snake with no prospects who none the less became the Queen’s Garter.
Little WiggleSmith was definitely, absolutely and completely deadly. And just about the cutest and dearest baby snake you ever… ever… did see. And harmless really. It is just accidents happen, don’t they.
It’s all in the screaming scheme of things.
Time.
Is told by climbing steps. Up I go into the dark future.
Down I go into the hazy past.
And the steps.
Start and stop.
Step… step… stop and slip… start and sink.
But it gongs and it tics and it tocks.
Step… tic
Step… tock.
Stop… gong.
Meg Ryan is dressed like Cinderella. And singing again. An old song. Always.
Who knew she was a soprano.
We’re in Technicolor.
She’s showing off is what’s she’s doing.
What happiness is.
We’re in a cartoon.
I swear if I swell up and burst trying to sing again…
But she wants to dress up and dance and sing so…
I tip my hat and bow and my sword falls out.
Woops, am I embarrassed or what.
It’s this simple
Magic.
“I don’t want to fight. I don‘t have the discipline. I will be panic. All frantic. I will kill.”
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2
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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