Great Reads by Suki

Listen to; You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash, When we were Young, Adele, You were the story I never wanted to tell. The story that I would so often throw under the rug and forget. Or the story that I held so much to myself because it was the only thing that was mine. It was the only thing that ever was. Just a story. The story that if I opened the book of us and started to tell, then, it would be more than just my mouth talking. It would be my eyes tearing up and my heart wanting to say things that it should never have to say. It would be my soul pleading and begging and asking,  "Was I that forgettable?" What is it with love and mistakes and regrets and sins? And what is it about these things that lead me back to you over and over and over again? And even now, if you just said my name the way you say it, I would come crashing back at your door. You starve me of your love and what do they say about that kind of love? That even though you served it on a blade or sword I wou...

x   I walked into our garage which was just a small area away from our main house. The flowers were well watered. The gardens were neat and I only wished I had gotten home earlier to see everything in the light of day. I couldn't wait for tomorrow. As I walked to the garage, I thought about how I would never have to open that roller door again or even deal will the storage boxes. Moving to the country was never on my life's to do list but Eli needed it more than any one. The kids were pretty much okay although they had a hard time losing their friends and moving to a much quiet place. The farm was the best part for me. It awoke a lot of my childhood memories especially being raised in a farm. Eli was nowhere in the house or even sitting outside the front porch reading The Monk who Sold a Ferrari for the hundredth time. Eli was many things but the last couple of years he had been reduced to just a few things. A loving father, a husband and a man who sat out thinking about his ne...

  I hate to burst your bubble, but heaven is just a small town with familiar faces, arrays, old people, young people, farmer’s markets, a sky, cafes, the weather. It feels like another small Mid-Western town that is yet to be ridden over by civilization but is almost there. I’m glad I died in the fall and the town was covered in tanned and dry autumn leaves here and there. Once I got here, I envied the dead. Those who had died earlier and I envied the living as well. I always dreamt of a forever and the fact that I was immortal now I almost felt doomed than, angelic. I felt lonely. Lonelier than I had ever felt my whole life on earth. In death, I was not supposed to feel, or so I thought. The feelings of the people I left behind, they haunted me every single minute. It almost felt like a knife was permanently gorged in my chest and every once in a while, someone would push it deeper and deeper and I was just waiting to die all over again. I could hear awful whispers every now and t...

I died when I was 17. I did not have anything as fanciful as a eulogy, or even the least, a funeral. When you die a death like mine, you barely get a final resting place or the roses placed around your place of final rest. Your grave smells of moss and other things that begin to grow. Some that I had never experienced in any of my 17 years of existence. A premature end, no one present to piece the stories together or to narrate the life and times if any. Comfortably in my grave, sitting there for the last couple of years, I decided to script a story of my own. Of the things I loved and the things I lived for. Of the things that hurt and those that brought a ton of joy. As I await judgment, I jolt down my eulogy, who would know, Mortui Vivos Docent, they say. A perfect narration of all my archetypes those that were seen and those that I only knew. Those that I role-played and those that actually existed. A beautiful coming to age, illustration of a dead girl's persons, shadows, anim...

  I sat there my face feeling dirty. I had splutters of blood all over me and some of those were on my lashes. My vision was blurry. Everything had happened so fast. I was not thinking. My hands had been tightly cuffed from the back. Maya's gown was drowning in his blood. Red and white had never gone so well together. I was angry and confused and part of me was sinking peacefully at the thought of what was ahead of me. Maya was crying so hysterically, it echoed at the back of my head all the way towards the police station. I could have hurt her. But I didn't. I knew she wished she would have died with him. But she would pay for it by living with the hollowness and I hoped it haunted her. I hoped the image of Nick lying there lifeless drowned her every single day. I took a shot at Nick's face for playing our song, one to his chest for daring to be with her and one to his head hoping that he would die. He had taught me to shoot, and there I went. He landed on the ground and I...

 "I got you night blooming jasmines" I chuckled. My mind was racing really fast and I was forcing my facial muscles to slow down. But I gave into the wildest laugh. "I hate those!" I shouted. The old couple next to us was staring at us this whole time. I held my mouth fast and turned to him. I almost hit his stomach but he pulled me close to hand me the flowers. I took them and laid my head on his shoulder. How thoughtful. I had the longest day and so did he but somehow he managed to stop at the flower shop to get me night blooming jasmines. There were six people at the train station and darkness was creeping in. I lifted my face to look at him and he was staring at the old couple. "I want old with you" I want to grow old with you too my Nico"  I whispered.  I smelled at the flowers one last time ignoring my pollen allergy. The train arrived but we watched it leave and it was finally just the two of us at the train station. This was pretty much how ou...

  This 'abyss' in my head. A sort of dark matter that's lingers at a very specific corner of my head. Anyway. It's Sunday morning. The sun is up and a little brighter for a 8am sun. I'm seated at the back. I don't go to church often. I don't feel bad about it. I kneel beside my bed to talk to the man above more than I walk around it. But some days he gets silent and on those days I seek out for him in this huge, building.  Perfect architecture. Beams that run down from the ceiling like they want to be noticed. Windows so tall and the light that comes in doesn't feel like the same light that I left outside. The doors are huge and brown. Polished neatly and always kept wide open. Inviting. The gardens outside are clean and bright and the flowers are not the flowers I see every other day outside home or work. They are almost perfect. Like God looks after them himself. Enough about this building. But how wouldn't I believe that God lives here?  So on bad...

 (I was shaking writing this. Like it's a true story. There are definitely parts that are based on true events. I wrote this listening to very sentimental music. I feel like this is the best thing I have written in ages. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Listen to these songs throughout, -Lean on me, Sandro Cavazza -Little bit of love, Tom Grennan -Sing it with me, JP Cooper and Astrid S -Toast, Smith and Thell -Hotel Walls, Smith and Thell) "Where did you take all the love, all the fire you had for him?" I choked on my coffee thinking about it. I looked outside the coffee booth and the light showers were looking too inviting.  "Sue!" "Yes!" I had not realized that I was no longer paying attention to Mel. We were having this coffee atleast to discuss my state of heart affairs and I had not realized how terrible of a place I was at until she popped that question.  "I'll take a long walk home in the rain. I don't want to talk ...