Empty your tears tonight, tomorrow will bring new lights, new life, with new strive to survive. While I stare at the star too far away, the sky opens up to drop the rains.


Why cry when I am dead and gone, oblivious to your songs?  Why lament and be torn, when I am buried or my ashes tossed?  Let your tears flow for me now, let me watch your sorrow spread between your brows. 

Baby, cry for me now before I close my eyes and forget how it feels to be loved, your kind of love.  Shed a tear, wrinkle your forehead with a frown, clutch your heart and hug your pup, in honor of me now.  The night is long, and the moon is gone; why shouldn't we sob and weep into the pillows? 

Cry for me now. Maybe it'll get easier if I  share the pain that I carry around. Cry for my aching heart imagining all the ones who were there with you at the crucial moments, or all the ones who spent hours, days, weeks, with you walking the streets, talking and teasing to glimpse your smile. Cry for our lack of time, our impossible future. Cry for the time when I will have belonged to the past, and no longer of the present.

Let the rain come, and let the pain reign. Cry with me tonight, because tomorrow when the sun shines into my window, I will get up from the bed, dry eyed and frownless, ready to take on the world.  After all, tomorrow is  my designated day of no sadness.

It's barely an hour since you left me, and already, I am sitting here by my window, wanting to hear your voice.  My house of cards is blowing away, I want to say. My London bridge is falling down, without a sound. Tell me you love me. Convince me that I am nothing like her; nothing like ever before. My breath gets caught in my lungs, my chest tightens and squeezes my blood. I want to close my eyes and release my heart from feeling so much. Instead, I see the bridge, our room, and the streets we walked together; moments I've treasured and relived over and over.  Now I wonder if we were retracing the steps you took with her. Why look back, when you can look forward? I raise my chin, ready to forgo my jealousy. And then with my own eyes, I saw your joy, back then. My time with her was so exquisite, you had declared to everyone else,  and your words on the following days echo inside my aching head. I think I know how it feels to have the ground disappear beneath your feet.

You are not the first. You won't be the last, my green man taunts me.
Why are you doing this? you'd shake your head and say. You are so special, you tell me this every day, shooing my doubts away.  But your songs of love fly away with the hidden conversations.  The parallels lines between her and me destroy my sleep tonight. Full moon of Waso watches my troubled soul whisper,  I am not unique, not for you, not in the least.

It has been all make believe. It has got to be.
Baby, come back to me and erase my warped memory.

The problem with me is that I am needy and selfish, sometimes beyond reason or logic.

More than anything, I wish to be distracted, by shiny sparkly radiant things. Browsing along the aisles yesterday, I filled myself up with a cartful of colorful dresses  and soft linens. I am so happy,  I tell this to everyone who will listen to me.  Tonight, I stare at the sky, mesmerized by the exploding twinkling brilliant lights. I want to own them in my backyard, gaze at them before I head to bed. My own magic in a bottle, just for me to bask in, at any chosen moment.

When my daughter was one, we took her to the Bluebird park where the city put on their best fireworks show for the Fourth of July. My son was in my belly then, eight months into the pregnancy and I felt like I was about  to burst open at any minute. Panting and sweating profusely, I pushed her stroller up and down the walking trail leading to the park. She sat silently, face flushed from the humid heat of July,  her curls, damp from the sweat, clung to her forehead, and neck adorned with layers of the glow-in-the-dark necklaces.   She had no idea then, but soon found out that the sky could open up with ten thousand dazzling lights.  When the fireworks started, she sat on my lap fearless, while I covered her ears with my hands, afraid that she would be scared of the booming sounds. Instead of the fireworks, I watched her face the whole night, loving the glimmering reflections in her big brown eyes. 

For the next few months, every night, she insisted on seeing the fireworks above her toddler bed. We sat together on her bed, staring at the baby looney tunes characters on the wall, while her father jumped up and down, arms sweeping in circles, pretending to be her fireworks. She giggled even with her right thumb in her mouth. Do you see the pretty colors? I asked her then. Which one is your favorite tonight? Blue? Pink? Purple?  My girl of one, would squint hard, trying to decide which imaginary color  she should choose.

The problem with me is that time is passing by quickly and I am forever grasping at the grains of time filtering through my fingers. Hold on, I want to say to them. Just hold on. What about me? my needy self growls like a hungry canine. How do I fill the hole you are leaving me with? Where will I find the newer shinier glittering stars?

Perhaps I can sparkle alone.

Right now, I want to write something poignant and poetic; with words strung together perfectly like pink pearls on my daughter's small elegant ballet dancer's neck. Something small, but leaves a lingering sense, perhaps. Or something big and huge, explosive and majestic, like a sky full of  of a fourth of July sounds and lights . It's Independence Day!  for God's sake. Something liberating and freeing would fit so well for today. Surely, there are so many stories to pluck out of my usual busy head.

Instead, my brain got fried by Rock Band, and I sit without inspiration. Green, red, yellow notes float above my head, and my bleary eyes remain teary and unfocused. I just want to keep on singing the songs of Duran Duran. Think my writer's brain declared independence, it told me Not today,  and went off its own way.

Happy Independence Day.

I want to do everything with you, you say the other day, your eyes filled with dancing dreams.  Everything?, I ask, ignoring the goose bumps creeping along my bare arms. Everything, you declare calmly.

Things under the sun, things in between the sheets, things above the clouds, things behind the curtains, things in the middle of the crowd, and all those wondrous things inside your mind. Everything and anything you could imagine.

Yes, I agree without hesitation. Let's.