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Stephanie Graber Mrs. Moe Writing 121 13 December 2004 Desert Vegetation and a Sun Dried Tomato I was trying to describe you to someone a few days ago. You’re not like any guy I’ve ever known. I couldn’t say: “He’s just like Clay Aiken except he can’t sing, that is, Clay can’t actually sing either; he’s much girlier, if possible; and much uglier, if possible.” I couldn’t say that because you don’t look like Clay Aiken at all. Though, I must say, you and he both have questionable gay tendencies. I finally ended up describing you as the desert. Beside the fact that you are dry, boring, and if someone is around you for too long they feel like they just want to shrivel up and die, I used the common cactus. Imagine for a moment that you are walking through the desert. Your eyes are frying out of the sockets, your flesh is melting from your bones, and your limbs begin to slowly detach from your dry, stump some would call a body. But what is that in the distance? A cactus: the only green thing you’ve seen for as far back as your fried mind can remember. You’re the cactus and I’m the sun-dried tomato stumbling through the desert. Like a cactus in a desert, you seemed like a nice guy, but when I got to know you I found out that you were nothing but a prick. A cactus in the desert can look very welcoming to someone like me, on the brink of drying up like a raisin. So I approached the plant. It stood tall in the desert as though controlling it with it’s feeling of safety and comfort. This feeling eventually overcame me and I had to investigate. Your insecurity, immaturity, and neediness: the thorns of the cactus. You tried to stand tall and control all, but you never let go of the thorns. You hid behind them and used them to deflect me. I just wanted the comfort I saw from a distance. In the end, I gave up. I was tired of fighting to get past the thorns. Too many wounds, too much blood; after so many mistakes I realized, you were never worth it. I was tired of the pain. So I left the cactus and hoped to never run into one again. That is what you’re like to me.

I’m clinging to nothing as it pours through my fingers where shadows light paths and lights blind the weary. You said you would stay with me until eternity was no more. You never lie. After centuries of lies you have none left. You were drowning in darkness yet no hand reached for you. On that day we walked and spoke of things unspeakable. You handed me a rose that burned to ash at my touch. It was red. I love black. I can’t abide by your words when they stab me in the back. That is a pain that I am familiar with. Death taste sweet on your lips but the blood has turned sour. So now I wait, endlessly, in the cold. How many times must I die with you? As I floated through the forest, the mist strangled the trees and none of the birds sang at my funeral. I did. But it was always your voice that shook the stars and halted the moon. The sun ceased to burn as it died in my arms. It was all for you. Your love is as sweet as the white rose you placed in my hair. The silence is screaming at me. We define love by classic fairy tales. But in the truest tales the lovers die for each other. I have died for you many times though you do not know it yet. Your love has been the death of me. Your voice is eating away inside me and the hunger is insatiable. But you remain with me. Living, dying, destroying hate. Hold on to this a bit longer until the tears pass and it is all quiet again. Stay close to me before this fear kills me again. Only together, with each other, can we kill our loneliness forever.

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