I wonder if they knew, really knew what you were thinking when you smiled for the camera or walked into a room wearing your Chanel No. 5 and revealing dress:

Your self-loathing thoughts of worthlessness.

The man you wished would leave his wife to swoop you into his arms.

How much your scalp burned from the bleaching the day before.

The production company not believing you’re serious about your craft.

The half-empty bottle of pills in your clutch.

How much you wanted to have a child to love like your mother never loved you.

No one really knew, but I wish they had. Maybe you wouldn’t have been my tragic heroine.

Comforting

Harleen closed her eyes to the darkness as Pamela stroked her chapped lips. She’d been feeling under the weather the past couple of days, but never sick enough to ignore Pam’s gentle touches and kisses.

She reopened her eyes to see the moon’s light sneaking into their bedroom through the hastily closed blinds. Pam’s red hair seemed to sparkle at night, and her green eyes always seemed to glow.

This was love, she’d been told. Easiness. Quietness. Softness.

Not brutality. Not pain. Not sadistic hilarity.

Harleen blinked and tried to focus on the invisible patterns Pamela traced with her fingertips.

This Picture sums up my outlook these days...

Today

Red wine.
The color of my dry lips.

Black nails.
The color of my wet tears.

Brown shoes.
The color of the eyes I miss.

White comforter.
The color of your t-shirt I found beneath my bed.

Home

She wrapped the blanket her mother had left her tighter around herself and listened to the cars drive by. It had rained earlier that morning, so she could hear the splashing as they drove through the streets' puddles.

The clouds kept the sun's rays bleak that morning, so she had turned on all the lights in her living room to distract her from the depressing outdoors.

The television's talking heads kept her company as she thought about how unimpressed she was with the mini Christmas tree she'd gotten a week ago. It didn't have enough bulbs and no star on top. It was just as sad as the day was.

She smiled nonetheless. Brooklyn was her new home, and despite her dead end job and singleness, she knew this was where she was supposed to be.

She just wished there was more to it.

Post birthday

I close my eyes as the water droplets hit the top of my head. I try to focus on them as they roll down my arms, my back, my legs...

The water is hot, and I can barely see my hand before me because of the steam. When I squint hard enough, I can imagine someone in front of me, someone standing in the shower with me. That someone is you.

You'd held me more than once with the steaming water hitting the both of us. And you would hold me tight. And I would feel safe, safer than I had ever felt before.

And I believed in those moments.

"Lonesome" (Drabble)

The apartment echoed when she dropped her keys onto the countertop. The digital clock of her old VCR flashed the time.

Midnight.

Another year had passed. She was older.

Helena peeled off her black trench and slung it over the back of the couch. She sat and kicked her feet up onto the wooden coffee table.

The night held no grudges and never passed judgment. Most disappeared within the night. Most were lonesome in the night. Helena always felt alone, day or night. But when the darkness absorbed her, she couldn’t recognize her solitude.

Five after midnight.

Gotham needed patrolling.