Sometimes all you have is a dream. You stick to it; you hold on to it, and you caress it. Like a baby. Like a child that grows up into something beautiful and wonderful if you do the things right. Provided you do them right. Provided you know what is right. Provided you know what you are doing.

If I had a wish I would wish for worries to vanish. I would wish for everyone to be happy.

For tears to disappear,
for pain to lessen,
for grief to fade away.

If I had a wish I would wish for my dreams to come true. It wouldn’t be selfish, I don’t have that many. Only this and that. No big deal. Just that they don’t work out. And if I had a wish I would make them. Work out, I mean.

I have questions. Millions of questions. I have quite a number of how’s, several what’s, a few when’s, hundreds of what if’s, and one why. Obviously I don’t have any answers. Sometimes I wish I had them, sometimes I am happy I don’t. The problem is I am not even sure having the answers will help my problems, will help anyone’s problems for that matter.

I want to be somewhere I am not,

I want to run some place I don’t know,

I want to sleep in peace and have no dreams,

I want to vent my grief in a torrent of tears.

They met in a formal dinner. She was nervous. He was sweet. They both led very busy lives with very demanding careers. He managed to make quite an impression, until he took her to the middle of the floor, and asked her to dance the chicken dance with him. In a black-tie formal event. Utterly shocked, her eyebrows shot up as she asked him, “You’re joking right?”

Someone once said, love does not walk away, people do. I will add, and they take love with them. It is like taking it out of an old box, folding it carefully, packing into a bag and taking it away from you. And you are left with nothing but pain, memories and a great feeling of a loss. A loss of something big. Something important. Something meaningful. Once it is gone, nothing else matters. The world is not the same anymore. You are not the same anymore.

“Alright hun.” Claire asks as we start unloading the car. I could only shrug. My best friend Claire and her boyfriend were helping me sell my stuff at the local car boot sale. It was early Sunday morning and Kieren and I would still be in bed right now, reading the papers and eating breakfast if he hadn’t left me just over a year ago.

It was a really busy place with so many interesting stalls and people. So many people clearing out to make room for the new.

She woke up and instantly checked the clock. 3 am. Not that bad, she thought. Yesterday it was 2 am, the day before she had not have any sleep at all. She hardly could sleep since he had gone. How could she sleep if he was not there. She was sitting on her bed, looking around, waiting, ready to see him enter the room. Though she knew he never would.

Imagine a perfect relationship. A relationship full of love, passion, respect, tolerance, understanding. Imagine that you wake up to sweet good mornings and go to bed after a good night kiss. Every single day. 365 days a year. No exceptions. No failures.

Passing by the library Annie noticed that the secretaire was open. She hesitated but then entered the room; her husband, Michael, didn’t like her being in there. He used to say it was his workshop, a place where he was the creator and anything that could distract him was not welcome there. Including her.

Throughout the years she had gotten into the habit of not going inside and couldn’t really remember the last time she had stepped over the threshold of the library. She noticed that not much had changed within the years. The same bookshelves, same furniture, even the atmosphere seemed the same. In fact only the laptop on the desk made one realize they hadn’t travelled back in time to the 19th century.

They say time heals all.

Does it heal the bruises of hasty decisions?
The ones that haunt you through day and night reminding you of things done and words said.

Does it heal the loss of unforgettable love?
The one which filled your life with sense and broke your heart short after.

Does it heal the confusion of tough choices?
When you know that either ways you hurt someone and they will never forgive you.

I have not posted any stories recently and it has reasons. Firts, being sick for more than a week, did not really leave me with any options other than bedrest, so no writing. Second, I was busy with other stuff and fiction writing somehow took a long pause. But today I wanted to post here a story. A FICTION one. It is an old one written more than a year ago but it is one of my most favorite stories even if not one of the best ones. Inspired by the song by Hinder “Lips of an angel”, again one of my favorites. They both make me cry, the song and the story. Or maybe that’s just my mood.

“One bottle, two bottle, three bottle,” Andy counted examining unfamiliar labels.

“Bottles.” Miley corrected.

“What?”

“Three bottles. Plural,” she explained without looking at him. She just had taken up plurals at school.