I carried her to my place, still holding

her in my arms as she whispered what had

happened.

"She left, said that she was done being a

mother to a trash can and a wife to a

beer bottle; who knew she could be so

poetic?" A tired laugh poured gently out

of her bruised lips. "All I want to feel is that

I'm good enough for something, for my own

damn mother."

"Do you know how it feels when

rocks hit your soul, your own heart

as you watch your own mother

pack her bags and glare at you?

Just across the street, I remember we

would always wave to the ice cream man.

Now, the ice cream man is afraid of us, I bet.

He never comes anymore."

Her memories tossed from one side

of her brain to the other—aching for attention.

I gently laid her down on my bed and

brushed away her tangled hair. "I'm so done,

Charlie. I look like a mess. I am a mess."

My mouth was dry with words

I couldn't say.

"Please give me life again, Charlie,

because all I want is to be held. What

do I have to do restore my innocence?

My trust? My love? My everything, Charlie

I am just a scratched out thought thrown into

the trash can. Thrown into me. That doesn't

even make sense. What makes sense anymore?"

I looked into her eyes. Her tears began

once more. "I'm sorry, Charlie. You must

hate me."

I shook my head and planted

kisses on her cold, battered lips.

And in that night, we forgot

everything that happened

and focused on how the

stars shine a little brighter

when you stare a little longer.

Yet as we lay in a bed of emotions,

fate played with our thin-threaded

lives and decided to bring along

new unplanned lives.