First Date Sonnet

In anticipation of my first first date in quite some time, I offer you this (wish me luck!):

If someone were to calculate my life,
And lay it all on paper for to see
In plain black ink my joy as well as strife;
To calculate the sum of what is me
I hope that he's an algebraic whiz
For variables aplenty he would find.
And central to the answer of this quiz
Is the girl who still exists inside my mind.
I haven't met the one to say forever;
At least the one to mean it, anyway.
He'd have to be astonishingly clever
To solve it, but perhaps she's on her way
Essentially, the thing it's building to:
There is a chance I'm searching here for you.

"Remember: Withholding information makes you just as liable as he is. Are you sure that's your whole story, miss?"

The words resonated in my mind. It wasn't easy, playing at hints, and telling half-truths just to get what I wanted. He knew what I was onto, but he just didn't know how to be sure. He kept leading me along, and I kept backing off. This almost playful game of cat and mouse went on for several hours, as we sat across from each other in the dim light, each with a cup of what may have been the worst tasting coffee I've ever had. I couldn't just give it away though. That would be too easy, and if I did, he wouldn't believe me anyway. No one just comes out with the truth like that, not about something like this. No, this was the only way it could work, and I thought for sure I had him, and then just like that he was leaving. What a perfect end to a terrible day. First I got questioned about that crime I witnessed, and now this. Relationships are hard.

The Song of Freedom

Without a thought we watched it go, and never realized how easily the thing we love the most could slip right through our fingers.

Understanding came upon us like the morning. Slowly at first, but then all at once, blinding in its clarity.

Once we realized what we had, and what we lost, the choice was simple: There was no choice.

The plan was perfect. Beauty masked by simplicity, in a robe of ease that could only succeed.

We attacked, but our enemy was prepared for us. Alerted by one from within.

Without trust, we were on the brink of falling apart, centimeters from failure.

Finally, we broke. When a group of rebels breaks, it isn't hugs and handshakes. Many of my closest friends died that day, some by my hand.

Now, I hear the sound of footsteps, heavy on the stone floor outside, echoing through the chambers, both real and in my mind.

The darkness is interrupted only by the stars I see when he hits me. I can never see him, but I can feel his warmth when he draws near, and I know it will come soon.

It wasn't enough to break us as a group. They want to break us individually as well. I would rather die.

They granted my wish, for seventy-three seconds today. I'll need a new wish.

They told me I can go, a free man. They think they changed me, but I'll show them. This time though, I'll do it from within the system.

This is the last time you'll ever hear from me. I've included excerpts from my diary over the last five years that can only prove that I've become a failure. Heaven forgive me. I'll be there soon.

A tidal wave is forming, with the power of a hundred thousand voices pushing forward, screaming endlessly, rejecting simple choices they've been given, racing onward to the shoreline to embrace new a day coming, when the status quo is washed away. They dream about a better day, when power falls to better hands. No longer can their small demands be silenced. A dream of calmer waters, after blood gets washed away. A dream that won't come true unless their voices remain loud and strong, the crowd moves on, but soon they're dashed upon the shore. They cause destruction in their wake, but they're gone, and in their place is just a bigger wreck than what they started shouting to correct, but the worst of all that happened were the few who were the loudest. Suddenly they changed their voices, redirected all their prowess to become what they once hated, and the people call it progress. They oppress. They distress. They transgress. They confess. The cycle starts anew but with a different set of voices. The only ones who really hurt are the voiceless.

Time stood still. I realize that it was really just a trick of my mind, my memory going into overdrive, storing every little detail of that moment, but realizing that doesn't make it feel any different. So much happens in a moment, and most of the time we don't even realize it. This moment was different though. This was the moment right before I kissed you for the first time. I wish I could tell a magical story about a perfect evening that culminated in one of those first kisses that they write stories about, but we both know it wasn't like that at all. It was just a normal day like any other. We were just sitting there on the couch, watching TV. My mom was in the other room (remember how she walked in and made that noise? I still have no idea what that was supposed to mean. It was even better when she tried to "sneak out" as if we hadn't heard her already), and you had just said something about how these commercial breaks lasted entirely too long, and you were getting tired of waiting. I made an awkward joke about how the time would go by quicker if you were kissing me. Neither of us laughed though. And then there we were, in that moment. It was at the same time the most agonizingly painful moment, and the most amazing one. You probably want to slap me right now for that first part, but give me a second. This was the moment before we kissed. I knew it was going to happen, but before I could get there, the whole time stopping thing happened. I remember your eyes. They were closed, but I still remember exactly how they looked. Your nose, pretty much the same as it had been. Your lips, and my fear of missing them on this first attempt. Your feet, that you had tucked under you Indian-style on the couch, which kind of made the whole leaning in part a bit awkward. Those were the good parts. But beyond that, I remember the guy on the TV set out of the corner of my eye, in swimming trunks, throwing a Frisbee to promote whatever new drug had just gone on the market (I don't remember the drug, because the name wasn't on the screen at this point). I remember the brightness of the late afternoon sun as it came in through the window, and the speck within that brightness that was most likely a housefly, trapped from flying straight into the sun by a clear pane of glass. I remember all of these things, and more. It was agony getting to that first kiss. Then once it happened, it was over. Luckily, it was followed very shortly by a second, and a third. And for those, time was just right.

There was a time when he would have done anything for her. She would watch some Hollywood tale about the boy whose persistence paid off in the end, and when it was over, she would look at him, and ask, "Why can't real boys be like that?" Now, when he thinks of those times, his smile is etched with pain. He remembers the day he filled her car up with her favorite flower, and she told him her dad was going to be furious, and drove off without even saying goodbye. He remembers the night he threw pebbles at her window until she opened it. She looked so cute in her flannel PJs, still half asleep. She asked if he knew what time it was, then shut the window, and told all her friends how weird he was the next day. He remembers thinking, "This is how it always starts out. She'll come around." Then they would go to the movies again. She would sigh and ask him one more time, "Where are the boys like that in real life?" He remembers the last time she spoke to him. It had been the night before graduation. They were lying on the hood of his car, looking at the sky, just like in the movies. He said sweet things, like he always did, and like always, she just looked away. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and the words just started pouring out of him. He confessed what they both already knew, and she just stared at him as if he were speaking a different language. It wasn't just right, but he didn't know what to do next, so he leaned in to kiss her. That was when she pushed away, and said something about some boy she had been trying to get to notice her, and how this was so wrong. He said he understood, though he really didn't. Not knowing what else to do, he took her home, then stayed up all night in his room, watching those old movies, wondering what he did wrong.

I watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean, and thought about you. It had been a long year for both of us. You never let on about how my constant professions of love bothered you, but I knew they must. Still, there must have been something you liked. I don't know if it was control, or just simply that you wanted to be wanted, but every time I tried to pull away, you refused to let me, and knowing how I felt, it was easy for you to rope me back in. There were many times when I thought things would go one way or the other, but they never did. Even now I wonder if the reprieve I've gained will fall away the next time you're lonely. I watched the sun as it set over the Pacific Ocean, and thought about how 93 million miles couldn't keep its warmth from me. I let that warmth wash over me and prayed for a gentle night, and a new beginning with the coming dawn.