Haunted 

He loved her, yet she would never love him. He knew that, knew his body would never yield to his heart. 

They met as he lay dying. He could hear the monitors beep. He couldn’t respond, couldn’t reach out and touch her as she sobbed above him.

His mother’s words tore him apart as she spoke to his doctors. He was marked an organ donor, yet his mother wanted to meet the woman who was being gifted his heart. The next woman on the list had agreed to meet with her. 

Her voice made his nerves tingle, her laugh made his heart soar - yet the monitor showed no change.

He knew he could do nothing as he listened to his angel speak. His heart would be hers soon though.

Beep, beep, the steady cadence of the machines. 

His mother’s gut-wrenching cries rattled his bones as they pulled away his tether to this world. His body had failed him, yet his thoughts still wandered on. 

She was here. He could feel her, he breathed her in as the monitors that controlled his airflow halted, 

He felt his body surrender. 

And, with a final exhale, he stared into her eyes, fingers failing to reach her face, unable to wipe away her tears. She was the  air in his lungs and, without that, death seemed sweeter than life itself. He knew he  would always choose death over living without her. His sweet angel in the dark.

Unrequited

Her dress caught the light as she danced. She looked radiant in the flashing lights. His heart felt as though someone had grabbed it, squeezing the last remaining scraps of life from it. 

He sat alone on the barstool. His gaze transfixed. 

She walked up to order, but stopped short when she saw him. Her words dying on her painted lips. 

She sat next to him on an empty stool and looked into his eyes. Her heart hurt with the broken smile he offered her. He asked her questions, minutia to fill the void. She knew his words were empty, though her heart still raced. 

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She spoke, laughed, and hurt with him for hours, until the bartender finally kicked them out.

He went home, she went home. Never once did they meet again. 

A broken sigh escaped her lips as she whispered, “There was never a doubt in my mind that he deserve better.” 

Becoming the Villain

She left me standing there, and my heart ached for one more word. I ached to feel her pain against my chest, slithering like a snake until it was my own. 

She said I couldn’t handle her, her demons too hard to control. I knew mine could fight hers every day and she would finally feel at home. We could frolic through the flames of Hell and own them as if we were the devil himself.

It was weeks that I watched her, never wanting to hurt her, never wanting more than she would give me. 

Her movements through town were mine to follow, her life becoming more entangled with my own. I knew if I just loved her more, loved her harder than I had before, she would feel my heart beat within her own.

And as I crept onto her bedroom balcony, determined that my love was finally at home with hers, I heard her scream. I felt the knife as she struck my chest, her screams - as if I was just another creep in the night. 

She saw my face and still felt fear, felt horrified by my presence. She may not have thought of me since our first night, but her fire had never left my heart. 

I felt my life drain slowly away and as I watched the sun rise, I realized every villain was once a hero who simply fought too hard, and lost themself within the flame.

Alone, Yet Never Lonely

She was loved beyond measure, yet she felt alone. She had seen love, felt love, knew in her bones that love was surely on it’s way. Her childhood hurt, but the shared trauma and neglect they felt bonded her to her siblings. 

They knew her, they supported her, and they cheered her every success. 

Yet, they lived far from her and, in a disenchanted world, preferred texting now instead of their quick daily chats. 

She wasn’t sure when it ended, it was a slow but steady decline. She forgot to return calls and they forgot to call. 

Her heart found love, found joy, found peace, but the loss still hurt. She was loved beyond measure, yet she still felt alone.

Lucky

“We’ve had shitty lives before this,” her mother said. “This is the life we get to have everything we ask for. This is our charmed life.”

For someone who claims they are a hardcore Catholic, her mother’s words catch her off guard. 

She’s had the feeling that it’s true though. She has yet to experience a job she hasn’t gotten, a test she hasn’t passed, a boy who has demonstrated unrequited love. She has felt torment, hopelessness, pain, grief, suffering, earth-shattering loss. But through it all, she’s felt lucky.

She has “the life.” Two kids, charming husband, house in the suburbs. She makes no money, but gets to work where she’s truly happy.

She’s lucky. She’s really lucky. She’s fucking lucky. “You are so GOD DAMN lucky,” she repeats to herself as she cries alone in her bedroom.