Surrender the Chase

That plain gold ring
Is like a burden on your finger
But with a heart as black as night
How can you claim love her, too?

Apply a little pressure
Take time to realize
Where do we go from here
When you don't know my name?

Even now, as you whisper
Winsome words worth wonders
Can you say you know
you really love a woman?

You're all I need
If you would try and
See things my way
But that'd be asking for
The moon and the sky

I don't wanna be
Your soldier of love
In this vacancy of a
Silent house
Gimmie shelter or at least
Release therapy

You talk that talk
But can you walk the line
You know, the one between my heart
And... hers?

She me and he
We three agree,
But we lack harmony.

Discord in this chord
Broken beaten scarred
But I'll never give up on
My apocalypse
Dripping down your fingertips

All of my love could
Be that easy if you would just
Sayso
But in my dreams
I keep falling through
The space between to
Stay or leave

I know my world is not enough,
But let me give it to you,
Make it good.
You have my devotion
In these arms of mine
Even after tonight

But because that
Pretty little thing
Has your pretty little heart,
I tell myself I'm not in love

When the naked truth is
This is just artificial breathing
Meant to fuck with your head
While angels teach u a lesson

But come closer
I'll tell you a secret
This me, I'm not is
Somewhat damaged
And in need of a fixxxer

In your eyes I see the
Spectrum of how I let you down
By letting more than words linger
Like a star in the distance

I'm so dazed and confused
Do I shut her down or
Save me

I mean the hand that feeds
Leaves scars as you
Kiss me when I wake up,
And I do not want this

I'm broken between the lines
Of this love song
Abnormally attracted to sin
And bleeding me into
Azure autumn leaves

Wishing I was the
Chosen one
In your beautiful world
Making time stand still for
The both of us.

New, fanfic-y thing that is as yet untitled

Hello, hello again. Shaboom shaboom. So I'm back with a new... whatever this is I think I'm doing. A new, slow-starting piece that I'm pretty sure will be a cheesey piece of fanfic by the end of it. Meh. Such is life. So here goes hoping I don't offend, fuck shit up or make the true fangirls/fanboys mad...
~~~***~~~

Solange Lloyd sang into the broom handle, not caring who heard. She was home alone, anyway, and on a Saturday night at that. Her neighbors were probably all out. Being somewhat introverted, no matter how good she got at hiding it, had stunted her social life. So she stuck to singing as she swept up in her tiny coffehouse, just a few minutes after closing. The rest of her night would consist of getting in some time on the boards before she took a few hours to practice her instruments. That's what she had planned, at least.

Her voice faltered in the near dim light as she looked up to see a very tall figure at the storefront window. Her cheeks tingled crimson as her vision adjusted to the shadowed reflections on the inside and the night cloaked reality outside.

"Can I help you, sir?" Solé walked closer to the window, praying he hadn't seen or heard her personal concert. She thought she had an okay voice, but was certain she'd not be in the top 8 of American Idol in this lifetime, regardless what her close knit circle said.

"You have a lovely voice," the man purred. His voice sounded so close, deep and rich and clear, even given the thickness of the shatter-resistant glass, as if he were just beside her sharing the quiet of her little Chestnut Hill corner.

"Uh-hoh, you saw that...," she trailed off, her voice a nervous laugh.

"Yes, I did." He smiled at her then, and Solé felt her heart tumble into her stomach. He seemed aware of his effect on her, and mercifully continued. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find South Broad Street, my driver seems a bit," he paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to find the right word, "...new."

It was at the mention of a driver that Solé thought to get a good look at something other than his face. He was, in her opinion at least, the best example of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. She couldn't venture a precise guess at his height, but he seemed to dwarf her 5'6" frame. His slightly long dark hair was slicked back and he was elegantly dressed, which made her wonder what was on Broad Street that he was going to. His cerulean gaze narrowed as she blatantly appraised him from the other side of the window before belatedly remembering herself.

"Sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean to stare," Solé blurted as she set her broom aside and unlocked the door to him.

He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her as she stepped aside to let him in, which made him more appealing, if that were possible. More appealing in a dangerous way. 'Dangerous to my battery stock,' she thought to herself. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of derision, as if he'd heard her.

"If you've got a minute I can write down directions. Please, come in."

"Thank you. That would be very generous."

Solé shut the door behind him as he walked a few feet past her, leaving a thin veil of designer cologne in his wake. She turned to the bar and leaned forward to hop up and grab some paper and a pen. She settled her feet back on the floor, blowing at a few loose strands of her hair as she wrote out a list of directions. When she was done, she turned to find him looking at her oddly which made her realize how she must look: ratty Spider Man Chucks, black tights, an oversized green sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder and covered by a Holy Star Trinity (-Gate, Trek, Wars) apron and her hair in a complete shitshow of disarray. Figured she'd be looking like Cinderella's understudy when in the presence of another grown up of exceeding aesthetic proclivity. 'Dah well,' she thought to herself again. 'He's out of my league anyway'.

"Okay, here ya go, directions to South Broad. Not sure if you'll need to park, but there's plenty of lots and street space if you do."

He smiled again and took the paper from her, their fingers grazing just slightly with a tinge of static electricity. He read through the directions before he spoke again.

"'Solé's Little Coffee Shop'. Cute. So you must be Solé?"

Solange nodded and blushed, so transfixed by his elegance that she didn't realize until she looked away from him and down at her feet that she was backpedaling as he advanced, slowly crowding her into the bar. There must have been fear in her eyes when their gazes met again, as he stopped, a sheepish grin on his face that allayed suspicion. He gave a slight bow, something that seemed an out of place action for him, stepped back and reached for her right hand.

"Good lady, thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."

His fingertips were cool where they rested beneath her palm. He lifted her hand to his lips, tilting down slightly and placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Solange don't know how she stayed upright or kept her hands to herself. His lips were so soft and warm, and all she wanted to do was shove her fingers through his hair to see and hear him moan as her fingertips caressed his scalp. His hair looked like warm espresso, and she now had an urgent need to know if the strands would pour as easily over her fingers.

He straightened, returning her arm and hand, with that odd look again that she was starting to find not so troubling. His smile took its time appearing, and Solé knew she'd have no trouble finding inspiration tonight.

He took a step back and she realized she knew nothing about this seemingly refined and sophisticated stranger she had let into her bar so late. Not even a name. She found herself trying to guess at one as she smiled graciously herself and accepted his thanks. Judging by his accent, cadence and vocabulary, he probably didn't have a name that smoothly followed 'oh, god, fuck me', like Trent or Mark.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts again, and she had to wonder if she had said any of that last bit out loud. His voice, now slightly more upbeat than necessary, broke her from her thoughts.

"Well, I should get going if we wish to arrive on time. Thank you again, Solange."

He stepped back and let her pass to open the door. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave a slight nod, with the hint of a knowing glance and telling smile, before pulling the door closed and telling her to lock up against the dangers of nighttime in Philadelphia. Then he strolled over to the open car door and got in. Solé watched and sighed as the taillights disappeared down the street. A few awkward and bittersweet moments and back to being a pumpkin.

"Story of my life," she shrugged as she took broom in hand again and began singing the Leeann Womack tune. "Insanely hot dude stops for directions and of course, he's probably got some trophy waiting for him in the car. Asi es la vida, Mama."

She took no notice of the fact that he used her full name without her having mentioned it, or the faint cerulean-green orbs seemingly watching her from just beyond the farthest window...

*So this is an unedited, currently untitled piece. I started it this morning during a bout of insomnia. Apparently 2012 can't wait three weeks to 'be my year'. So, here goes a start, which is no-thing like the last story. More character focus even though the protagonists are as yet unnamed, indepth plot, and a lot of references. A very slow moving attempt, this. But I had to get it out while it was fresh in my mind, so this is what comes of it. And away we go...
~~~

My morning was turning into a prime example of a true clusterfuck. Woke up late, so no time for breakfast. Forgot Dee's lunch, so had to hustle to get that done and to her, which set errands back half an hour, which meant I'd be arriving at the gym later than usual. It wasn't really a big deal; just that this was really the only time I got to sort through the past week and zone out.

I never paid any attention to my surroundings, or even to my progress. When I started coming nearly a year ago, I was in bad shape. I didn't really look fat,just pudgy, and my clothes hid that well enough. But I lacked stamina and strength. Sure, I was strong enough to do a lot of the chores and other household things it would have been nice to have a guy around to do, but that was because of circumstance and not a conscious, concerted effort. I wasn't 16 and on the swim team anymore.

I didn't notice that it slowly became easier and easier for me to hit my stride from a short jog to a full on run on the treadmill. Sure, I was a bit self conscious at first. Big girls shouldn't run, no matter how big your t-shirt is. You get looks. But when my workout buddy, Chloe, met her goal and moved on to slimmer wardrobes, she bestowed upon me her workout playlist. She made me a few cds so that I could put them on my iPod and still have a hard copy in the event my technology impediment reared its ugly head again. We still kept in touch and meet for the occasional walk, jog, treadmill run, or latte at Starbucks, which is nice. I can't say that I have very many female friends I connect with regularly. Not that I'm a ne'er do well, but being empathetic and observant, I try to avoid conflict as much as possible, and most of my friends are male, with female significant others. I don't like stepping on toes or rocking the boat unnecessarily.

I had been blasting Bo's, my precious '04 silver Jetta convertible, speakers out cranking the playlist to get me psyched up from the round of chastising I'd treated myself to for not making sure my alarm was set and not being more prepared in general. The top was down, the breeze was warm, and the makings of a pleasant smile were on my face as I pulled into the parking lot. I hopped out, secured the car and grabbed my bag, a slight spring in my step as Beyonce's End of Time continued in my head. I fished out my member card, took a swig from my ice bottle (bit of a trick I picked up: to keep your water refreshing, especially in the summer at small gyms, freeze a water bottle a third to half full, adding a slice of fruit if you like, then about an hour before you hit the gym, fill the bottle with cool water. By the time you reach the first machine, even ifyou live over the gym, you'll have cold, lightly sweetened if you choose, water that won't warm even if the air conks out in the middle of July. And, it should last well past your workout if you freeze it halfway or a bit more and pace yourself.), and stepped into my sanctuary. I immediately wanted to turn around and go home.

'Shit!' I thought to myself. Some jackass was on my treadmill. The one farthest from the door, in the corner, facing away from the row of TVs. Once I was on my own in my visits, I decided on this machine because it was inconspicuous enough. Even as I improved, I didn't want peopleto notice me. I liked being invisible. It was a condition I had become accustomed to and perfected. I could zone out to my tunes, go somewhere else in my mind and not worry about the squat Guido in the Mets shirt or the sturdy girl in the lacrosse hoodie glaring at the Barbie twins who were making sure the jock wannabes in the row behind them were watching their asses and ponytails swing as they ran. I was alone. No one took the other machines next to my treadmill. Couldn't be seen over in that corner. But I as didn't have anyone looking for me, other than Chloe when she could make it in, it was perfect.

"Uh-oh. What is it? You're usually the most oddly chipper person here, even when you're exhausted."

I could only smile lamely at Tara, the girl at the member desk. She'd been the first one of the staff to actually say something to me about anything. She called me on the fact that I should consider a new wardrobe, as my current one was almost an issue.She just grinned and nodded to my shoulder, exposed from the now super large neck of my sweatshirt. We spoke every visit since then, and formed a nice rapport.

"No big deal, Tar. Woke up late is all. Been running like feet on fire since. Gonna kick rocks outta here and get some work done." I snapped my ear buds into my iPod as I spoke, waving the device to show what I meant. I took a gamble glance over at my machine, hoping to find that the dude was just finishing up, but no such luck. The fucker was actually pressing buttons and speeding up. My jaw stayed clenched and off the floor by sheer force of will.

"Gonna go drop this bag, and maybe stretch at the lockers. Never been this late before. Lotsa folks in here this time of day."

"Yeah," Tara laughed. "People wanting to assuage guilt for weekend debauchery and lunchtime foibles."

That got an honest laugh out of me. I nodded and waved as I made my way to the locker room, ear buds snuggly in my ear, and A-B Machines revving up. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

The locker room was empty enough, so I found a free space and stowed my bag. I tucked my iPod into my bra cup and sorted out the lock, making sure to put my wrist-cord key and water bottle on the counter. I slowly began to stretch, my mind already wandering as it focused on the sensations of each muscle being prepared for wherever I would wind up today. I inhaled deep as I rolled my neck and stretched my arms overhead and behind me, opening up my ribcage. This was my favorite stretch. I convinced myself that maybe my muscles were a little too long for my skeleton, which would explain why swimming and stretching always made me feel fantastic. The warm push and pull, the tension, even the disappointment of release. I tried not to think about what a former teammate had once said.

"You're into that kind of stuff. Weird torture and shit. You probably couldn't even get off unless somebody tied you down and spread you out so wide all your joints dislocated."

Back then, what she said had hurt. Bad. I was already weird enough without somebody predicting my future with such certainty. But now, I could see where she may have been right. I mean, I did major in medieval history with a forensic psychology minor. I had been into things like the Inquisition and obscure methods of torture for years. It fascinated me. The methods, the implementation, the tools and equipment, the mindset, scandal and salaciousness, logic and reasoning. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little wet when I heard a reclusive collector was auctioning his prized and possibly authentic 15th century torture rack a few years ago. What can I say? History, and the darker side of human nature, has always fascinated me.

I exhaled and shook out my arms as a middle aged woman came in. I smiled at her as I leaned to the side now fully engrossed in the tantalizing promise of escape afforded me by my run. I frowned a bit when Angel Is a Centerfold came on. Nothing against the song or the J. Giles Band, I just hadn't decided what mood I was in, and that song puts me in that 80's teen movie state of mind. It's a good thing more often than not, though.

I timed my stretches by the verses and chorus breaks, so by the time Angel was over I was almost to the floor. Just a few more, and hopefully my interloper would have the decency to disappear. I mean, it's pretty much common knowledge around here that that particular treadmill is mine. What's his deal anyway? He must be new. I could hear the angel and devil of my conscience gearing up for another row.

**Let's be nice to him.**

--Let's tell him to fuck off!--

**He may have a nice girlfriend. You could use afew more female friends.**

--Can it, Glenda Goodwitch!--

I smiled and shook my head as I pulled my heel up behind me, reaching up with my opposite arm. I love the dull pop I get when Istretch my spine just right. I switched sides, again getting that pop that makes me sigh. Maybe today wouldn't be such a wash after all.

I turned to see my gym mate give me a wry, knowing smile, almost an admonition. 'Yeah, I know. Keep it up and I'll have a bad back, blah blah. But given the circumstances, who's gonna care?' I thought to myself. It must have shown in my face, either that thought or my reaction to the opening bars of Alanis' Unforgiven, because her face softened for a moment before she smiled and headed out to the rest of her certainly wonderful day.

I finished stretching, particularly enjoying the pull of tension in my hamstrings as I squatted and extended to either side.'One of these days I really won't be able to do this anymore,' I thought. That thought took me places I didn't need to be, so I shook it off, jumping in place a few times to get the blood really going before skipping the rest of Alanis caterwauling to the next song. My m.o. is usually to find a kicking jam, take the iPod off shuffle, hop on the machine and let my playlist go in order. I went off a little bit on the inside as H.A.M. blasted through my buds, the possibility of having to wait for my machine far from my mind.

~~~
So like Mumble said, that's all I got so far. I mean, I do know where this is headed eventually, but I don't have anything to segue between here and there at the moment. So... Happy Holidays everyone! Let's hope 2012 sees me all carpal tunneled out from writing. :)


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