Number-one bestselling author

When I was young,
I used to dream
of what love could be.
In these dreams,
I would be with a man
who loved me completely.
We would do simple things
but everything we did together
would be a celebration.
Over time,
these dreams took on
an almost lucid quality,
as if they had stopped
being reality and had become
unreality instead.
When we found each other,
it seemed impossible
that I had found the love
I dreamed about
for so long.
I looked at the photo within me,
of this love that I had dreamed about,
and found it lacking when I looked at you.
I kept waiting for the other shoe,
for the floor to drop out
from beneath me
and for the world to tell me
that it had all been
some kind of joke.
When this didn’t happen
and I realized that I was worthy
of the love that you gave me,
that there was no other shoe
and the floor would remain in place,
my heart began to grow.
Over the years
that we’ve grown together,
so has our love grown.
I have fallen more in love with you
every single day.
I didn’t think it was possible
to love someone
as much as I love you
or that it was possible
to love someone this much.
When I think of you,
I can see only light
and feel the comfort
of your hand within mine.
There are some days
when I pull out that old photo
and look at it.
It has lost all of its colour
and is grainy in black and white.
When I look at you,
I see the colour that the picture is missing
and the love between us
that continues to grow.

Years ago,
I dreamed of love.
It filled my mind,
my hopes and my dreams.
I carried this dream
within me for so long
that the picture had become
all shiny and full of light.
It became what I measured
every love against.
Over time,
I would live within my mind,
watching the cartoon that I had created
as it moved and became
even more shiny and unattainable
as the two men within this cartoon
lived and breathed a love
that I could never have.
When I first met you,
all I saw was the light
that surrounded you.
I stared into your eyes
and saw a safe haven within them.
The cartoon couple within me
looked at you with
an expression of awe.
One wiggled his eyebrows
and the other smiled,
clasping his hands together with joy.
I paid them no mind
but as I listened to you speak
and was lulled by the timbre
of your beautiful voice,
the cartoon men within me
began to change.
Eventually,
they began to take on different looks,
different mannerisms and I would
watch them trying to find their way together
even as they continued to change shape,
the colour of their hair
or the shape or their eyes.
Soon,
I realized that the cartoon couple
that had lived inside of my head
for so long had become us.
Now,
I am finally living the cartoon dream
that had filled my head for so long.
I’m living every moment and wondering
if anyone is looking within themselves
and seeing us as the cartoon.
So deep is my love for you
that when I look inside myself now,
all I see is your love for me
and the light that you
bring to my life.
When I look inside myself,
all I see is you and the light
that you create
in me.

“I don’t understand how you can do it.”
She said.
Her voice was soft
and her eyes
were narrowed in thought.
“How can you forgive? Does nothing from the past matter?”
I thought of her question
and how loaded it was.
My past was a mine field
that waited for me.
I would step softly along a chosen path,
always careful not
to walk in certain spots.
Those spots held the memories
that were best left alone.
Occasionally however,
I would stumble and fall
upon the grass within my mind
that held things,
memories that I could not let go of,
thoughts that would dig deep
and grow roots underneath,
hiding within my mind garden.
When I would fall upon
one of the mind mines,
it would not explode
in the traditional sense.
Instead, it would bloom
as if it were a flower.
I would lay on the grass,
watching the memory replay
and relive itself within me.
As I looked at the memory,
I could smell everything from that moment
and my ears would fill with every sound
from every second that played within me.
For a moment,
the memory would leave me shaken
and I would remember the
hurt, terror, horror, pain
of that moment.
Then it would fall away into the ground,
as if it were a seed
waiting to grow within me.
I look at the earth that
the memory came from.
Instead of falling into that earth,
letting the darkness that it holds
take me over completely,
I choose to do something different.
I reach inside my pocket
and pull out a seed.
I place it within the hole
that held the memory
within my mind garden.
I pat the earth tight
and water the earth.
I know that now that the memory is free,
that it rides upon the wind now,
heading towards the great unknown
and that it can no longer hurt me.
It is only the memories that I hold on to
that take the most blood,
as if those memories were glass shards.
I stand within myself
and look at my mind garden.
There are thousands of flowers
that surround me and even more
blank space of grass that hold more memories,
just waiting to be discovered again.
I look at her and shrug.
“I forgive because I choose to do so.”
I say.
“Otherwise, I’d be holding onto a lot of glass shards.”
She looks as if she understands.
I look down at my hands
and see the criss cross of old scars
that mark the palms of my hands.
Each one represents a memory
that I held onto until I bled.
Even so,
each scar also represents a flower that I planted
within the garden of my mind,
turning a difficult memory
into a moment of release.
I wander in my mind garden,
and listen to the sound of glass shards
as they float within the wind.
It sounds like music and I wonder
how many more memories
there are to
find.

His life had finally hit the shitter. He was sure of it this time. And if Yhestin Rosenbude was sure of anything in life, it was heaping piles of manure.
He slung his backpack against the marble floor extra hard when he got home and slammed the door behind him. He stood, silent, counting inside his head. He wondered if she would break her record.
One, two, three, four, five.
On five, he heard the click of stiletto heels. He was surprised; his mother was getting up herself to tell him off; not one of the servants. He had been looking forward to being an ass to the new maid.
A shadow filled the floor of the hallway and got bigger Moxey Pickle, leading scientific mind in neruo-physics at the University, she studied her son with a hard and cool glare. “Now, Yhestin Gafelta Hershel Oldenfeld Rosebude.”
Shit, Yhes thought. She used all of his names. He must be in big trouble now. “Yes Mother?”
“Is that how we behave when we are home?” She asked.
Though he supposed there were some people who thought his mother pretty, he didn’t see it. All he saw was a hardness. “No, Mother.” He said.
“I have told you time and time again how to behave when you are under my roof. I know that young men your age can be difficult and dangerously unbalanced. Did you know that the male mind thinks about sex every thirty seconds? And at the same time, the brain sends a signal to the nipples and the penis?”
Yhestin stared at his mother open mouthed. “What?”
“I mean, well, that means that the male mind is always thinking about sex.” She walked towards him. “Look at it this way my little turtle dove. The male nervous system is a little slow. There are certain things in the male mind and body that make men inferior. It is just natures way.”
She smiled as she said this, but Yhes could hear the icicles melting, could hear the air around him freezing in her wake. “Yes Mother.”
“And, well, if the male brain is slow, then that signal is coming another ten seconds after that first initial attraction. But the brain is limited, Yhestin. There is only so much it can absorb. A man’s mind remembers only two or three things at one time, it is a simple truth. A man is thinking about sex almost continually.”
She reached out and touched his face, ran a finger down his jaw, a soft touch like a feather. “Yes, Mother.”
“That’s my Special Little Boy.” Yhestin groaned inwardly. “I love you Yhestin.”
“I love you, too, Mother.”
She leaned down and kissed him, a soft peck on his forehead. “Mommy loves you very much.”
Yhestin said nothing, he did not know what to say. He watched her leave, the heels of her shoes clacking against the marble floor. He always knew when his mother was home; he could always hear the sound of her voice as she talked into her Dictaphone in her office. He could hear her heels clacking and echoing. Sometimes, it was like the house was talking to itself.
His forehead was still warm from where she had kissed him. It was the first time he had seen his mother in a year.
* * *
As he was getting ready for bed, his Nanna McKanda came in.
She wasn’t really his grandmother, just someone his mother hired to take care of him. But She had been with him for five years now. She was all the kindness he had known.
“You have a nice time after school today?” She asked him.
Yhestin nodded. “Yes McKanda.”
“What did you do?”
“I talked to Hasenpfeffer Finklestein.”
“Yeah?” She turned out the light and pulled back the cover of his bed. “And how is she doing?”
“She wants to kill David Hasslehoff.”
McKanda regarded Yhestin for a moment, blinking her large, kind brown eyes at him. Then she let out a laugh loud enough to wake the dead. “Oh, I like that girl.” She said. She wiped a tear from her eye. “That girl has sense.”
She chuckled and motioned to him. “You get into bed.”
He did as he was told, knowing that she would fuss until he did what he was told. She had no family left and the only family he had was his mother. But in a way, Yhestin realised, McKanda was his family.
He heard her footsteps but wondered at the strange glow that proceeded her. He felt his heart leap when she came back into his bedroom bearing a small cake. It had thirteen candles on it.
“Happy birthday, Yhestin.” McCanda said. “You’re a man now.”