probably the last migration
"I guess I should be leaving," she said abruptly.
JESUS! I'm fucking up right before my own eyes. Decisions, oh fucking decisions! Make one quick, asshole! Keep her here or let her go. Where are your balls, you ignorant shit?
They've shriveled and I really couldn't tell you. I think I have the turtle syndrome-when scared, the turtle's head will slip back into it's protective shell until it feels danger has passed. Not knowing what to say scared the hell out of me and when a decision is made, they (my balls) will descend back to their rightful place until I decide to tell her she must stay, or that I absolutely must see her again, or until I tell her-
"Goodbye, Carolyn."
And that is the shit that slips from between my now dry as a desert lips.
I saw her eyes drop to the ground.
"Oh," she whispered.
I'm such a fool. Such a shy stupid fool.
Carolyn mustered a smile and we stood and I shook her hand-the same hand of hers that just half an hour ago had removed a wet piercing from her clitoris-and it was a strong, yet gentle shake, and I felt her sadness. I was blowing it with her. Why? Because I'm a chicken-shit.
I should say something. I should do something. Fuck, I should cry.
Oh, Carolyn, the handicapped angel.
She turned and painfully hobbled away. It hurt my heart so bad that I could barely watch her. Stabbing her cane into the concrete for support for a couple of bum legs that could barely bend. There's a lump in my throat as I write this.
After watching the empty air that still swirled and danced in rememberance of her shadow, I blinked back more tears and headed back into the hospital.
I felt like falling to my knees and screaming at the sky.
I wanted my father to live.
I wanted to run after Carolyn-I could easily catch her-kiss her almost useless numb legs and tell her-
--handicaps don't matter to me.
Dad died an hour later.
"I guess I should be leaving," she said abruptly.
JESUS! I'm fucking up right before my own eyes. Decisions, oh fucking decisions! Make one quick, asshole! Keep her here or let her go. Where are your balls, you ignorant shit?
They've shriveled and I really couldn't tell you. I think I have the turtle syndrome-when scared, the turtle's head will slip back into it's protective shell until it feels danger has passed. Not knowing what to say scared the hell out of me and when a decision is made, they (my balls) will descend back to their rightful place until I decide to tell her she must stay, or that I absolutely must see her again, or until I tell her-
"Goodbye, Carolyn."
And that is the shit that slips from between my now dry as a desert lips.
I saw her eyes drop to the ground.
"Oh," she whispered.
I'm such a fool. Such a shy stupid fool.
Carolyn mustered a smile and we stood and I shook her hand-the same hand of hers that just half an hour ago had removed a wet piercing from her clitoris-and it was a strong, yet gentle shake, and I felt her sadness. I was blowing it with her. Why? Because I'm a chicken-shit.
I should say something. I should do something. Fuck, I should cry.
Oh, Carolyn, the handicapped angel.
She turned and painfully hobbled away. It hurt my heart so bad that I could barely watch her. Stabbing her cane into the concrete for support for a couple of bum legs that could barely bend. There's a lump in my throat as I write this.
After watching the empty air that still swirled and danced in rememberance of her shadow, I blinked back more tears and headed back into the hospital.
I felt like falling to my knees and screaming at the sky.
I wanted my father to live.
I wanted to run after Carolyn-I could easily catch her-kiss her almost useless numb legs and tell her-
--handicaps don't matter to me.
Dad died an hour later.
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ps.: it is NOT cool to embarass me...