Tag Archives: Story

Legend of a Heart

She always thought of him with his first and last name.

It wasn’t a formality, it was his identity
An identity of a person, or a persona, tucked away into memories of the past
Before foxes spoiled the vine
He wasn’t just Jon. He was Jon Burke, himself.
Have you heard?
He wasn’t rich, or famous, but if they wrote a story about us, they would be sure to include him.
Rarely present in her daily life, Fortune’s Fool was ever a shadow in the back of her mind
An unfinished, hardly begun love story. Or so they say.

Jon Burke was a ladies man- even when he wasn’t
Like Greene’s perfect Rake, he liked to be needed by a woman, and he knew how to give the kind of affection that accomplished this
Not considering the consequences of his magnetic field being strong
She was captivated, in spite of herself, and it is this writer’s opinion that she both never forgave him for that, and loved him all the more for it
But such was the heart of a woman in the wake of Jon Burke. Or so they say.

There was a time when the two had met that some of us thought she’d tame him
He was wild at heart, and perhaps at everything, but she was equally so
And each longed- this writer thinks- for a love that could keep them. Have you heard?
Jon Burke wanted this one.
Or so they say.

Theirs was as spontaneous and inconvenient as a love could be
He was a quick, fervent and raging fire, the lightning that struck the chestnut tree
But that was Jon Burke
She was Just; a red lip, classic thing with molasses strings that drove him mad
For she knew they stumble that run fast
She already had another, and that’s what made her go. Or so they say.

The moon waxed and waned, and birds flew south,
And the shine of the song turned to rust in our hearts
As rumors become legend, and legend was forgotten.
Only Miss Calypso knows why still she sings.
None but the trees in the orchard stood waiting for Jon Burke’s return
On one civil night
When he would sweep her up
And they would resume a page on the story that never had an ending
An unfinished, hardly begun love story. Have you heard?
He wrote her, they said
More than once, with his name on the letterhead-
Jon Burke.

She always thought of him with his first and last name.


A Love Story.

He was weird with his phone again all yesterday. He’d been driving her crazy with it all week. He just gets stoned and plays video games all day, every day. She felt like a ghost in the room. Sitting on the laptop, bored as hell, hoping to be noticed. He came and sat by her or touched her from time to time, but it was still kind of like he was doing that to appease her more than being actually interested in her. His mind is elsewhere.

In the afternoon she decided to run next door to get some coffee. He asked her to get some food too. She lingered a little at the door, getting her shoes and coat on. She saw him look back at her, and it seemed “off”. Like he was checking over his shoulder to see if she was still there. She paused for another minute as he looked back to his game. What the hell was that? Then she noticed his phone was now pulled out from where it had been charging on the floor just minutes ago, before she’d gotten up. “Figures,” she thought.

She walked out and noticed the nip in the air. Fall is coming and the grey skies that come with it fit her mood well these days. She pulled out a cigarette. She felt herself take a drag and noticed that it felt angry. She pondered to herself if she didn’t like smoking lately because she channels her anger through it- strange as that idea seemed. She needed a fucking release. She sucks it in and it feels like poison, and she likes that. It’s this numbness she has, it makes her want to feel something. Even a bad something is still something. Her numbness, the anger beneath it; It makes her feel like doing something bad to herself. Her stupid, unnoticed self. “God, that’s creepy, right?” Her mind resounds the dialogue to no one. That darkness in her is troublesome. She probably should be more worried about it than she is. She shrugs to herself and flicks the ash before taking another drag.

That cigarette made her feel sick. But it bought her some alone time. Time before she has to go back in that apartment and feel lonely again. Funny- lonelier than being out there by herself. When she’s out there alone, at least she doesn’t have to feel unwanted. She looks down at her phone, void of texts. She finds herself wishing that there was anyone out there thinking of her. Wishing there was anyone to keep her from thinking about whoever is on the other end of his phone. She shoots a text to the one mostly likely to respond, and heads back in.

He wonders what took her so long, but he has a feeling. He feels a pang of anger. He can’t look at her when she sits back down. His suspicion is confirmed a little while later when he hears her phone go off, as she reaches to check her messages. “Figures,” he thinks, watching out of the corner of his eye. He turns to his friend. “Hey man, you want another hit?”