Matchmaker, Matchmaker

“I’d like a wife,” her noon appointment explained from across the desk. His hand already held his check book. “Do you have a pen? I’d like to get this started sooner than later. I’m a very busy man.”

“I’d like a husband,” her one o’clock appointment explained from across the desk. She reached for the tissues as her eyes teared up. “I’m almost thirty, still a virgin and –.” The rest of her sentence disappeared in a mess of sobs.

“My mother says it’s time for a wife, so I came here,” her two o’clock appointment explained from across the desk. His eyes remained glued to his cellphone, his finger kept swiping left, right, left. When he looked up and saw her raised eyebrow, a sheepish smile formed on his face. “What? I’m lining up my tinder-mistresses.”

“I need to find a husband for my daughter,” her three o’clock appointment explained from across the desk, eyes wide with panic. “She’s hopeless, almost in her mid-twenties and her longest relationship was with the Harry Potter series. Help!”

She took a late lunch in the garden and tried not to reevaluate her decision to become a Professional Matchmaker.

Written for: Flash Friday

Theme: Marriage // Characters: mother desperate to marry off her daughter; a handsome, slightly snobbish landowner; a cad;

With Him

From Heaven, I observed my charge

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, the cold dissipated.

With him,

a summer breeze on the river;

with him,

seasons turning around a love-seat.

.

As an angel, I fell for my charge

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, I chose.

With him,

Heaven exchanged for an embrace;

with him,

time stood still, and yet whirled by.

.

On Earth, I watched my charge age

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, I loved.

With him,

Touch, nights, silence;

With him,

Words, laughter, sunshine.

.

In soil, I buried my human

and felt through him; nothing.

For the first time, I grieved.

Without him,

I turned to stone;

without him,

I have reached my end.


“I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still” Arthur Rimbaud

Collage 6

Collage #6 Prompt

In the Hallway

Written for Cracked Flash:

She bolted down the hallway, the children screaming behind her. Behind them was a man, a man with a water hose.

He held the nozzle down and the screams turned to shrill laughter. She barely got away, dashing through the bathroom door. She poked her head around the corner and observed her children under the kitchen fountain’s stream. In the moment, it did not matter that they had carpet or that they would need to dirty a clean towel.

Her son spun under the spray, head facing the ceiling as the cool water broke through the summer heat. Her youngest sat next to him, having fallen in her escape. Her hands rose upward and feet kicked in delight.

And over their shoulders, behind the nozzle, she met the eyes of the partner she loved and realized that in this moment lived her happiness.

Love’s Craft

spooky-gates

Love brought color to this world.
We walked this path, hand in hand, the warmth of your coat around my shoulders. You lit me up and with that light the world was anew.

Love brought purpose to my world.
Your small hand in mine, a whiff of your perfume. I would walk this path and wait, for you. Then you’d turn the corner with a bright smile and the world was anew.

Love brought unrecognizable pain.
Flayed us open. Let the harsh wind scrape our most private of parts. You were mine, I was yours. The world was anew. Then the gods stepped in with their malicious craft.


Photo Credit: Xenja Santarelli via CC.

Written for: Micro Bookends.

Intertwined

The curve of your spine is like crisscrossing branches.
I trace your skin, kissing each vertebral knot
as we lay together, tangled as one.

Written for #3LineThursday

“Every round, we get a fair amount of entries that center around the theme of love (or lust or passion or something in that ballpark). This one stood out because it so perfectly incorporated imagery from the photo prompt, which made the emotion of the narrator so accessible.” Judge’s Thoughts

Ballooned Happiness

The wood creaked under my weight as I stepped further into the room. I knew those shoes, I had bought them for his birthday; I knew that wrinkled shirt, I had washed it many times. I knew him, he was my lover.

I just want you to be happy.

And I tried to explain to him that I won’t always be happy, that it didn’t quite work that way – that I didn’t quite work that way. I won’t always be happy and that was okay. More than that, I don’t rely on others for my happiness. Yes, even him.

I saw the confusion in his eyes, then. Now, I only see his torso and his legs.

I had told him once, years ago, that balloons made me happy. I liked them from beginning to end. From inflating them, to helium sounds, to flying high into the sky. I liked popping them and bouncing them. Balloons fly and I help them with that flight.

He wanted me happy. A simple request that’s not so simple when the mind can run and twist things into demons. Yet he tried, he appeased, he indulged.

I reached out and ran my hand along the top of the balloon. “What did you do to yourself?”

He didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. Instead, he clapped his hands and let evermore balloons fly from his grasp.

- Julia Anna