Where Are You? Please Don't Leave Me Here With These People: A Love Story

Choose your weapon just in case this doesn't go as planned. Hold my hand but hold your knife too. I promise I'd never hurt you but this might kill you. Will there be any pieces of us left when it's over? If it's over? I've never done this before - loved someone I couldn't hide from. Can I love you when I'm still in love with everyone else? Can you love me when everyone else is still in love with you? What are we gonna do other than clutch our knife and our gun and hope the other doesn't run when things start to burn? We always love the savage but never before was that savage a friend. Stability or madness? I'll choose the madness, again.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Mik Everett (via thelovejournals)

Or you can die a thousand times, a thousand different ways. 

This may be a bit intense...

Every day without you is like a week without rain, to survive, I’m forced to drink the blood of the other loves I’ve slain.

Look how you’ve changed me. I’m a vampire, I’ve died but still remain here in a castle that’s haunted by the absence of you. You’re the real monster though you have no claws, no fangs.

Every night I stare into the waters of Lake Pontchartrain as the sun sets, then I dive in and swim to the other side without taking a breath as I search through swamp and suburb counting each and every one of my steps, holding out hope that I will find your footprints left behind, and I’d follow them blindly off the edge of this earth while I fight off beast and thief as I search for a sign that you may not be as far as I think you are.

Though I am the hunter and you’re on the run I have armed myself with flowers and gave you the gun so when I find you my fate is yours to choose, and if you reject my apologies I’ll drag my bloodied and lifeless body back across those slain beasts’ and thieves’ bones making sure I leave a trail of these flowers and bleed all the way home just in case you change your mind and want to love me back to life again you'll know where to find me.

If not, I’ll gladly die knowing that the night is not as frightening as what I see every morning when I wake and face the dawn.

I want what I want as quickly as possible to make sure it's something I still want once I get it. If not, gives me enough time to want something else.

I have an elastic heart. My heart stretches to let love in, and does so pretty easily. My heart has no walls, and no locks - it enjoys being full.  But once that love is gone, or you're gone, my heart bounces back like a rubber band. There is never any empty space. That space you once occupied is no longer there, my heart will still be just as full, only a little smaller, a little tighter - there are no voids in my heart. Only love. But just like a rubber band my heart can be stretched again. You may have to try a little harder next time. You may have to wiggle your way in. 

A Poem About Cheese

If your heart was a cheese, what kind of cheese would it be?

I’m sure my heart is made of brie. Hard on the outside, but once you cut it open it oozes all over the kitchen counter like butter. It’s an introverted cheese. Some people like the moldy rind and some don’t, but brie never makes any apologies. It’s the cheese you put out for holidays when you want to impress people. My heart is like the holidays.

I’m pretty sure her heart is made of cheddar. Just as sharp as her tongue. As yellow as the sun that shines through the blids onto her cheek in the morning.

Or swiss. Full of holes because she gives too much. Or blue cheese because she’s always cold and her heart crumbles whenever I try to take a piece for myself.

She told me my heart is probably made of gruyere. Old and cracked and mostly good in fondu. The kind of cheese you melt down and make a party of and share with friends, and then regret that you didn’t save more for yourself to give to someone special. A type of cheese that likes to please. That melts too easily. Goes good with beer and cider.

I disagreed. I prefer red wine, myself.

She said her heart is made of pepper jack. Mild, but spicy when it needs to be. Versatile. The type of cheese you fall in love with instantly and will love you back just the same, but every now and then in the middle of the night it will wake you up and remind you, you’re not as young as you used to be. You have responsibilities… like no eating spicy foods past 10 p.m.

Where The Water Flows

See the river. Need the river. River wild. Tame the river. Want a city. Build a city. Flood the city. Blame the river. Build a wall. Hold it back. Keep it there. Dig it deep. Run a pipe. Get a drink. Water plants. River sleep. Board a ship. Travel north. Economics. Get in line. Hit a bridge. Sink the ship. Oil spill. Pay a fine. Snow melts. Up north. All that water. Coming down. High tide. Water rise. River crests. Leaving town. Higher walls. Deeper dredge. Levee breach. People drown. River mad. Eating land. Cypress trees. Can’t be found. Water flows. Downhill. Need a drink. Shit and piss. Flush the pot. To the lake. Don’t forget. Feed the fish. Oil and grease. Antifreeze. Down the drain. They don’t mind. Grab a pole. Cast it out. Catch a bite. Dinner time. Oil and grease. Fry it up. Kids say. It tastes funny. Wife sick. Healthcare. Plan canceled. No money. Take the kids. To the lake. Find a beach. Dive in. Fish stink. Sand sticky. Signs say. Don't swim. News says. Boil your water. After every time. It rains. House floods. Water dries. Do this all. Over again. River laughs. Lake cries. Travel West. Dry land. Build a house. In the hills. Fill your pool. Water plants. Never flood. Never rain. All the water. Drying up. River laughs. Lake too. Need a drink. Out of luck.

Pick up the new book (and the old one) at Studio Be in New Orleans or visit my website nikrichard.com

My brother, the brilliant @nikrichard dropped off some copies of his new book at @studio_be_ , pick up your copy while supplies last. #studioBE #ephemeraleternal #ADreamForSale (at Studio Be)

I Used To Have These Dreams About You...

I used to have these dreams about you. They were so vivid I’d wake up to see the blood rushing back to my skin where you had just let my arm go. I would open my eyes in mid sentence while mumbling something incoherently only to realize I was talking to a ghost. It felt like you were there, but every time I would try to grab your hand, or touch your hair, my arms would go right through you. Funny, you always had your rules. Why don’t  you ever take your shoes off while you walk around my head at night? You know my mind is made of hardwood floors. They creek with every step you take. At least close the door behind you so my thoughts don’t escape.

Waking up was always like walking away from a car crash. I would see my life flash before my eyes every morning, happy we’re still alive, but still holding regrets for those mistakes I made in the past. I would always have so much to tell you, but the nights never lasted long enough, and the dreams always ended too soon. I’m glad you’re here in this room so I no longer have to pretend I’m talkin… damn, I’m waking up again.

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