SnapShot, {Short Stories}
by nubianq

You Own Me

She had self-reliance to her step, coat charmingly sliding onto the back of her chair as she takes the position of the, chic, unattainable, unreachable, unavoidable, that one with the strong, once you get a hold you’ll never let go, but so, so hard to touch. Before you even ask her face transforms into that devastating smile, giving her order with an air of kindness, receiving appreciative glances and inquiring gazes to her ring finger, empty, like the chair before her already giving it away because there’s no need, no one is, and ever will, come.

I’m sitting at a table

Not able to find a possibility

I’m sitting on a table

Me and my own

Rare. So rare in this day and age of where intellect, a sense of self, principles lost on the hopes to gain praise from everyone, those that scoff and say oh how unattractive, who does she think she is, too much pride, too much pride in that girls blood, she’s losing herself, losing her head in the clouds of those self-righteous days, long gone not even leaving dust to trace, she picks the residue of sugar on the pad of her finger, stirs her drink as she savors the sweetness.

All my love transformed into tears

All my love transformed into sadness

There she sits, giving off presumptions that causes so many to wonder, teasing scent that never has a name. No book to draw her attentions, no gadget, no locks of hair or scarves to pull and twist, no faraway look as she daydreams, just that graceful arch to her back, elbows gently resting on her knees, one leg over the other, a drink, usually a stiff latte, swirls of aroma, calmness, wreathing the air. So entrenched, every other day, she’s in that seat, complete but lacking, observing but delaying.

Aye, aye I’m waiting everyday

Waiting for my baby

I’m waiting every night to hold this baby tight 

Locked and in hiding she contemplates in her tower, wanting to be freed but in no hopes of being rescued when she holds on so tightly to the only key already burning and leaving scarred tissue to the palm of her hand, hearing his breath on the other side, even, so unlike her escalating pulse, drunk with fear. Removing her palm before getting burned, the murky bottom of her drink mocks her with the reflection of a keeper becoming the imprisoned, the oppressor becoming the victim.

I’m sipping on my bottle

Again and again… alone

Sadness you own me

Sadness you own me

A priceless piece, revered at a distance, fed up, wanting a closer inspection, for someone to stop her from pushing the emptychair away and instead sit, stay, and say ‘I know you, no, don’t lower your gaze, let me hold this face and yes, you can cry. These tears only bejewel and add to these growing lines around your mouth, your eyes, cleverly covered with your smiles, you don’t frighten me with your indifference or feigned coolness, am just as blemished, am just as selfish, am just as stubborn, am just as mystified, and am just as scared. I know you, don’t shy away, instead let me whisper to your ear, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.’