M.K. Lee's Blog: Telling Tales, page 32

Whatever Comes First

Whatever Comes First

Matthew isn’t looking for a relationship. Ask him, and he’ll say it’s because between work and studying there’s just no time. Ask his best friend, Sarah, and the story is a little different and involves a failed relationship that left him raw.

Enter Joel, a childhood friend of Sarah’s recently back in the area. He’s not looking for love, either, but he’s not averse to the idea of a little fun. Uncomplicated and on the same page: what could possibly go wrong?

...

Pity

Pity that your pity is insincere
Pity that your disinterest’s all too clear
Pity that you’re rolling your eyes just now
Pity that you think you’ve still got a hold, somehow
Pity that you don’t know what you want to be
But don’t you dare ever think you get to pity me

© M K Lee

Tomorrow

When did tomorrow become too late?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll tell him. Tomorrow I’ll find the words to sum up all the chaos that’s been turning paces round the inside of my skull for a lifetime.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll stop making excuses, find courage that I tell myself I have for every other occasion when for this, courage seems like an impossible task.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll call, tomorrow I’ll say something, tomorrow I’ll be the person I could be, were I only to open my mouth....

Architect

It was an architect who found it. She’d visited the site wanting to imagine the potential structure in front of her. The building, that was due to be demolished to make way for her project, was little more than a mass of crumbling brick. But to one side of a former doorway she spotted it. Dark. Square. Newer than the brickwork, polished to a sheen. A headstone, she realised, even for the od position. Unmarked so no way of knowing who was inside. No one had been in the building for decades. Who t...

Whiplash

I don’t know who you are any more,
You’ve become something of a mystique.
I can’t tell what you even need me for,
And I’ve whiplash from turning my cheek.
I can’t work out if you mean to be cruel to me,
Or if you’re lurching through that kind of day.
Maybe this is just how it has always been,
And I’ve dreamt up a different kind of way.
I don’t think I can remain here on this ride.
Perhaps we have just come to an end.
Maybe in the future our paths will collide,
And once more I can call you my friend.

...

From Coffee Shop Corners

From Coffee Shop Corners

People watching might be George’s favourite way to spend his time. Why wouldn’t he lose himself in dreaming up the loves and lives of other people to escape the mess that is his own? From this new favourite cafe corner, in the new town he’s made his home, George makes up backstories for each of the baristas. And as they serve coffee, George imagines happily ever afters for their waiting customers. But when a surprise email forces him to relive the heartache h...

Always

“Shot time,” she heard and smiled as she watched his hands appear slowly either side of her waist, a glass of sorts in each. She felt him press against her and leaned back in familiar reassurance whilst grinning up at the man before her; his eyes met hers with mild amusement as he shook his head lightly, reached down to kiss her softly on the cheek, and walked away.

“Yes. Shot time,” she agreed, laughing, turning slightly in his half-embrace and accepting the offered drink.”What is it?” ...

Lava

Your voice is billowing pillow lava.
Bulbous, bursting, breaking with a hiss of air,
Viscously misshaping my actions and my deeds,
Hardening and cooling all for which I care.

Your words form,
Molten from hatred and vitriol deep in your chest
Then ejected under heat and pressure,
Coating me in skin sizzling pain that never rests.

I am not tectonic.
I did not rumble under your surface and trigger this rage.
You are the source that keeps this all burning, and churning.
But you’ll not devour me; th...

Taste

Did I laugh too loud? Was I too quick to answer? Did every word I said sound as stupid out loud as it now does in my head?

His lips are still bruised from his kisses, and he can still taste his smile. His skin hums in memory of the brush of his palms over his back. It was a perfect moment. But what happens now?

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He snatches it up in hope. His heart thrums and his breath catches, rereading his message.

“Can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking about you. When ...

Daring To Be

There is a feeling, a draw, a pull that he can’t quite put a name to, an urge he doesn’t think he has the experience to understand.

It’s when he looks at him, when he sees him, when he knows him, like nobody else in his world ever has.

It’s when he touches him, soft, in passing, that discreet brush of fingers against his arm that roots him deep, grounds him like he’ll never need to fear again, yet sends him spinning off balance as though he has replaced his gravity with something diff...