Readers Guide: People We Meet On Vacation

 

  I believe that, much like people, books come into our lives at just the right moments.

  People We Meet On Vacation was one of those for me, and Emily Henry knows how to write sentiment just right. We meet Poppy and Alex in, what we come to find out, is an ordinary bit of banter between them while on vacation.

  Alex is cool and calm; he rather read a book than socialize. Everything about him is controlled.
  Poppy is the opposite; where he is controlled, she is chaos. She is the key that unlocks an Alex only she can see, and their dynamic works for both of them. She is Vintage, whereas he is Kakhi; she's sunshine, while he is moody.

  Discussion Questions Number 1
When they first meet, Alex and Poppy are immediately put off by each other. Have you ever made a friend after a bad first impression?

  As I read, I thought back on when I met Andrew (my best friend and second husband), and it was a similar story, but ours started at our mutual best friend's college graduation. I thought I was meeting his cousin again, but when I saw my husband's face above where Jon's dad pointed him out, I was curious.
  I hadn't met this one.
  At the time, I didn't overthink it. Still, I remember him sitting across from me at one point at the TCBY, then eventually sitting next to me on this obnoxiously bright orange plastic sofa where we were both turned inwards, talking with one another. We had a lot in common, it was easy to talk to him, and his smile and laugh were infectious.

  In this case, I was Alex. My husband, before he was my husband, was Poppy. He was the only person, in a very long time, who actually talked to me. I felt seen.

  Discussion Questions Number 2
What's something you do on vacation that you're unlikely to do in your daily life? Is there an unquestionable comfort in anonymity?

  On vacation, we try to do new things, even if that means eating at a new restaurant (we are foodies) or try a new experience. Like, our last trip to Atlanta for book research, I threw us into many new experiences, and my hubs enjoyed himself, much like Alex, once he relaxed. We bar hopped, got lost downtown, found a random Pho place we ate at twice, and rode Bird scooters around town.
  We love the anonymity of vacations. It's the thought of being out of our norm, doing new things, things we usually don't do, and chating and enjoying the people we meet along the way. We've made lasting friendships that way, but we mostly collected stories and memories.


  Discussion Questions Number 3
Have you ever met a goal and found that your reaction wasn't quite what you expected?

  I've met a few, expecting to feel accomplished, excited, and happy. The happiness of meeting the goal lasted, but not as long as I would have thought. It took being in my 30s to understand that I was holding my excitement out for others, and they weren't as happy for me as I was for myself. Others were my parents and a few friends; I realized that if I kept expecting others to be proud of me, I wouldn't ever be proud of myself. It was the people-pleasing aspect of my life that I've learned needed to be pointed to myself, and making me happy.

  Discussion Questions Number 4
What is your worst vacation memory? Your best?


  I have always loved adventures, the planned, the unplanned; the more unplanned, the better. Our spontaneous and off-the-cusp vacations followed the same suit as Alex and Poppy's 'budget-friendly' vacations. My hubs had lost his Airbnb privileges because of the exciting places he has sent us, but at the same time, it made us cry with laughter.
  Our last budget-friendly trip was to Gatlinburg, TN, and we stayed at the local Comfort Inn. It was ghastly. Once we turned into the parking lot, my husband's face fell; he quickly got on his phone, looked at the pictures, and kept looking up and down while I watched him sleepily. At that point I think I had two hours of sleep the last 38 hours and I was cool with throwing down a drop cloth so I could sleep.
  Once married, we switched modes back and forth; on this trip, I was Poppy, and he was Alex. He was in the bargaining stage of vacation grief as I looked on the App for other places available around town.
  "No, no, no, this is not the same hotel."
  Nothing was affordable without spending $1000+, of course.

  In an hour and a half, we watched three different floors open up doors and have a conversation out front with neighboring rooms, another three had dogs tied to the outside bars, trash everywhere; a random car had evem pulled up, and we watched the most exciting display I had ever seen in person.
  We watched as a lady walked from the car to the room with her pants around her ankles.
  Instantly, we knew we had messed up.

 

  Discussion Questions Number 5
Poppy is going through professional burnout. Have you ever experienced that kind of fatigue? How did you get through it?

  I've become quite adept at the fine art of professional burnout, mostly because I've been chasing a dream through what I thought I wanted. I've been chasing the high of writing for over 18 years, and it took gathering these experiences to realize where I'm supposed to be. I look at burnout like a chapter ending, so I don't just call it quits right then and there; I wait until I find the one thing I haven't done yet and try my hand at it.
  In these experiences, I find my passion in the written word. So I write. 

  Discussion Questions Number 6
Which vacation of Alex and Poppy's would you most want to take? Which would you least want to take?

  Tuscany, hands down. The least likely is Palm Springs since I lived in the Desert. It's hot as hell, and the AC bit is so on point even though I was hot just thinking about it. 

  Discussion Questions Number 7
Having grown up in a small town, Poppy struggles to break free of her reputation—or at least struggles to believe she can do so. When have you felt misunderstood, and how did you get past it?

  When I lived in Las Vegas, I had to live under the guise of a dutiful daughter, a Christian school student, and altogether be the good girl everyone thought I was. When we moved to Pensacola, I started to come into my own weird little personality. Into the free spirit I really am. Truthfully, up until 2020, I felt misunderstood. Still, during that year, I realised that others opinions of me didn't mean diddily. I began to write more, read again, and do the things that made me truly happy. 

  Discussion Questions Number 8
Why do you think it takes Poppy and Alex so long to admit their feelings to each other?

I think it's the same way it took me a while to admit that I liked my hubs more than just friends. After so many failed relationships, you stop believing in yourself. After my ex wore me down so much, in those days that I asked for a divorce and the onslaught of phone calls, mean Facebook posts, and everything else that came with that time. Telling Andrew that I liked him was the least scary out of all the turmoil in my life.
It's the fear of the unknown that holds us back.

Discussion Questions Number 9
Rachel has a lot to say about contentment versus purpose. In your own life, do you prize one above the other? Are these ideas mutually exclusive, or can you have both?

  I believe we want both, sometimes all at once, sometimes separate. I know I strive for purpose; I've worked very hard since my first job at Target to get to where I am today. Owning a business. Yet, I'm still not content to be here, making great money; I run my own calendar, I can take a whole month off if I like and not fear the loss of a paycheck.
  But, I've always wanted to be a writer. I don't think I could be content until I'm there. Time can only tell!

  Discussion Questions Number 10
Do you think Poppy and Alex are going to make it?

  Without a doubt.

 

Link to Discussion Questions: People We Meet on Vacation by Emily Henry

Poem: Little Did You Know

​What about me? 

What about my hurts, my woes, my deep seeded fears? 

Don’t they matter too? 

I scream, from the inside out. 

Can’t you see that the fear in my eyes isn’t rebellion, it’s all a telling disguise.

My cries for help are obvious, but no one hears me scream. 

They’re oblivious. 

When I speak; I’m hushed.

When I cry; I’m told to stop.

It’s like any form of emotion is outlawed, unless it’s you who shows them.

If you cry, or scream, yell or curse, it’s warranted.

If we did it, it was bullshit. 

How dare you, you’d say, most kids dreamed of my life. Dreamed of the bed I slept in or the food I got to eat, no one liked a spoiled rotten bitch like me. 

I should feel like shit, she’d say, complaining about injustice.

I should let them verbally abuse, misuse, and harm my soul.

For what? 

A roof, some food, a sanctuary where I fear to breathe? 

I can’t even open a book to read, without being ungrateful. 

How dare I want I better life, or a life that’s in a dream.

I should be more grateful than I seem.

I shouldn’t fear my parents, but I do.

I shouldn’t hold on; but I do.

I should move on; I know.

But how?

Because little did you know, I was just wanting a home. 

Not this. 

On Research: Sexuality & Toys

As a writer, a curious human, and someone who craves experiences and the possible stories I can tell, this week's On Research is brought to you by Sex.

 

It's no mystery, but I was raised on romances, relationships, and the many-sorted sexual dalliances that they procured.

All the while, my parents didn't monitor me, but I got to see healthy versus unhealthy.

 

But did it over-sexualize me at a younger age?

Is that why I had a hard time in my late 20s-early 30s trying to figure out my sexual prowess?

Was I just stressed?

I mean, a mix of everything, I'm sure.

 

I learned about Sex by way of books and movies; even the school's sex-ed classes and the many shades of less is more had a hand in teaching me. Christian schools teach abstinence. So, it didn't surprise me the day another bookish friend, and I found a book about a Las Vegas prostitute at the new Dollar Tree.

As our whole class gathered around for storytelling, we didn't think we looked suspicious. As an adult, now I know better. What harm could a group of hormonal teenagers get into when huddled and whispering as we took turns reading chapters? Not much, but much like English class, the school needed to approve.

 

Which they did not, the book was snatched up. We did get sentenced to the sex Ed video that started Topanga from Boy Meets World? I don't know. I remember two things: Sex was like a roller coaster, and my body was a flower.

If you give away all your petals before marriage, you're basically a useless, sexual piece of shit. You a ho.

The Christian teachings left a lot to be desired.

 

Later, in public school, my 8th-grade year was pure magic, in the sense that we watched 3-4 different videos and it sealed the deal on me ever procreating. They blew what I first learned out of the water by showing us a weeks-long parade about other ways to give birth. Then, when you thought you could take up alcohol instead, they slapped some drink goggles on us and made us walk around.

 

Plus, my high school years, some bus rides, learning who Anne Rice was, and getting asked for personal advice or given highly personal information because I seem to have that aura about me.

Tell me your deepest sexual secrets- aura.

So, I've collected data in my head over the years and researched as I go.

 

I used to think it was taboo, but it was only in my head because that's what I was taught. It was not too gently shoved in my brain that if I had Sex, I was on my own. Here are some condoms; if I was going to fuck it all up, at least use one of these.

One tastes like strawberries if you do the oral.

 

On that note, you shall learn about my journey into the research land of sexual nature.

 

The books I started reading in middle and high school brought up a lot of good questions, and thanks to the internet, I was able to ask. Over the years, I have collected quite a bit of knowledge but still learned new things on the topic.

 

I'm working on a rom-com book called All Things Considered, and I needed the first chapter to be my first experience at a sex store.

At 18 years old, my sexual world opened before me with a plethora of weird-ass experiences that started at that very spot. I've been to several since and love having awkward conversations with the team. And yes, I seriously had a fifteen-minute conversation with sales staff about the importance of dilation before butt pluggage.
I love getting people to open up; I now know how to use that to my advantage. Tell me your dirty secrets; I just love learning about the things people think about. This exercise helps me understand people's backstories and allows me to file away character traits that I'd like to portray in a book.
Also, if you piss me off, you will definitely make it into my book one way or another.

 

I enjoy experiences as much as I like the conversations; trying or attempting to try is just as fun. You're either going to succeed, fail, or have a hilarious story to tell in the end. Either way, it gets filed away.

 

Like, Ben Wa Balls, for example. I bought some over the weekend because I'm at the curious age of 33, I have extra income to spend, and I don't care to hold on to the ounce of prudish nature I had left. Buy the sex toy, try it out, and do your thing.

Don't like it? Cool, don't use it.

Also, I figure why not after watching A Nice Girl Like You.
Or, after reading an excellent review about the Lelo brand, I may or may not have, purchased.

Yolo.

Now, my first toy buying experience? Embarrassing as all get out. I think I bought my first one when I was 19/20, and it was at the Spencer's. It was purple; it took me an hour to pick one out because I was nervous. I even bought a birthday card with it, pretending I was gifting it.

For the second one I bought, I threw down $85 for the Rabbit…. because of reasons. I was also wiser and more mature, and my ex-husband wasn't the most remarkable maker of love, so I had something to prove.
To myself.
And that it wasn't me.

 

That's beyond the point I'm trying to make. The fact is that I hold very dear those moments in my life that made me question what I thought I knew. I'm the same way now, if not worse because I genuinely yearn for knowledge. I'll try new things just to gain experience points like I'm waiting to level up.

I want to have master-level experiences, and I don't think I'll live a day and not want to do something new, so maybe one day I can write about it or use it in a book or a blog like this one.

 

Example: after washing my pet cat last night (she's a big girl, fluffy, fur for days), I tried something new and dried her off with a blow dryer. It worked great! She loved it. Until I realized it blew off so much fur that I had to deep clean the bathroom, then myself.

It was everywhere, rolling around like slightly damp tumbleweeds. Imagine black fur stuck to every available white surface that was the entire bathroom.

 

Even if it's a little thing, you bet your ass I will try it. And if I sit long enough to overthink it, I will have a funny diatribe or two on the subject matter.

Funny to me, at least. 

​On My Brain: Internal Playlist

​Please tell me I'm not the only one who lives with music in my head. My life has a literal playlist that rolls through, it summons forth a song like it's thumbing through a Rolodex from my memory banks, inserts it and plays.

 

Did someone just REALLY pull out in front of me TWICE?

The Bitch Came Back by Theory of a Deadman

Depression kicking my ass?

Anything by Evanescence.

Happy?

Cue the Millennial Mixtape.

Time to remember my childhood and everyone that wrong me?

Anything with teenage Angst.

It's purely emotional. 

When I write I have music on and a tarot deck near by. 

I have three. 

I also use it when writing my books. 

The tarot cards are a whole other discussion. Hint: I use them when I need something random to happen in a story. They've become excellent storyteller tools.

Weekly, YouTube updates My Discovery file, and I get lost down the hole during the workweek. I sucked it up and bought the membership with how much I fucking use the music function. 

YouTube: You're welcome. (PS, Thank you.)

At the same time, I try to avoid Florida driving hazards. Humans, school buses, and cars with humans in them drive 15 below the posted speed limit pre coffee. My weekly commutes to and from work are 15-20 minutes each; I have enough time to jam out and file away songs into my' book' playlists, personal and work ones. Then, if I'm alone at work, I replay the songs in the book file I'm working on blast, letting them tell me a story and then building on it in my head.

Movies, music, and tarot cards are where the storytelling starts for me; something always pops up; a memory, a feeling, an idea. It pearls up until it's a striking thing in my mind, and it's brought to life via music, then finely tuned by my imagination. It's an orgy of sounds, colors, TV show scripting, and nine yards of uncut fabric that deserve the perfect cut garment. If a particular song comes on, I imagine the start of a book I'm writing as if it were playing out before me as a show or a movie. I know what I like in my shows and films to start; I want to be knee-deep into something that I only have to slightly figure out. I like my mind to be in it, working through the problems the character is working through right then and there. I like feeling the same things they do.

I try to write like that. 

So I start writing as if we are falling into a character's most private of moments; I start in their head. I know I'm always in my head; I also love learning what other people think because those moments are truthful.

I started We're All Okay, with a typical On-Call moment when I worked for Child Services. I start it out with the mundane but exciting to me, the start and end of a work night. I start and end it off without spoken words because half of the exciting things are inside.

And when you work by yourself at night, you don't talk much, and you're stuck thinking about what time you'll be off, what time you'll have to flex till the following day, and what you're walking into because it's always a mixed bag. What bag do I grab? Infant, Toddler, older? What chapter am I on in my book? Should I grab another one just in case I'm here longer?

As a kid, I spent more time with myself than with other kids, parents, or siblings. I was personally okay spending time with myself, especially since I couldn't get in trouble if I was just keeping myself company, right? Nope, even being a bookworm got me fussed at. All of my teen years, to be exact, got me fussed at because I didn't act like a typical teenager. 

It still boggles me that I got yelled at for reading. 

Anyways, I digress. 

At the start of All Things Considered, I got into the main characters head because she’s who I was in high school. She’s a bookish woman, loves writing, crafts worlds in her head, but lacks a life outside of the pages of her books or her magazine column. We see it through, her world, and her view of the magazine. I have her explain things in her personality. Through her eyes, I grant her the ability to show us where we were going with the story. 

Last, in Trauma Bound I use a fear of mine and make it real. I also use music I liked when I lived in Alabama. I let music mould a story loosely before I step in and add the flourishes. 

It’s team work. 

I try new stuff per story, so I'm not repeatedly using and rehashing the same story with different names. In essence it’s because I’m still learning to navigate the literary waters I’m treading blindly into. However, I do find my voice one literary leap at a time, so that’s nice. 

Question: What’s  on your inner playlist this week?

Mine: 

New York by Cyn

Outsider by Rachel Grae 

Hero by Grace Gaused

Mercy by Duffy (opening song to All Thing’s Considered) 

You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse 

Sunday Morning by Maroon 5

Oh My God by Adele

A-O-K by Tai Verdes

Born For This by Foxxi

On My Brain: Characters

 I wanted to start something new for me. I felt that May was the month to start it, looking into my crazy brain and what I think about as a writer with ADD, Dyslexia, and a full-time job.

Early this morning, I rolled over. My brain yelled out that I needed to write an in-depth explanation of how I got to my characters and character building.

Okay, weird, but sure.

 I woke up thinking about this Monday morning. I do that frequently, and I guess I should listen to my brain more often instead of putting it off for another day because I'll forget.

 In short, each character I construct has a piece of me either hidden or blatantly prevalent as I write. One of my favorite characters came about a few weekends ago, and it's a homage to my past. To the girl who wasn't yet wounded, who fell head over heels in love with reading, notebooks, and pens.

  

I'm writing a new Rom-Com set in New York City, and I'm crafting the story around what I had wanted for my future at that point in time. My high school years meant a lot to me; they were formative in shaping who I was becoming, who I am now. Before moving from Las Vegas to Pensacola, FL, throwing everything I knew into a whirlwind of uncertainty, I fell in love with reading. My mother took us to the thrift store, and I stocked up on books that summer before we left. I had gotten books from the school library or the one down the street from my father's house. Still, there was something about Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, and my all-time favorite, Sandra Brown, making me yearn for reading. 

 They had romance, mystery, drama aplenty, and they kept me sucked in and glued to those pages. I didn't meet a book that I didn't love; I read them all.

Diana Palmer, Johanna Lyndsey, etc.

 This was a fresh start for me, and I was excited. I had notebooks for days, stored just about everywhere, pens, gel and regular, high lighters, colored pencils; everything, everywhere. I would write on paper stories, ideas, quotes, doodles, whatever came to mind in my free time.

 So, when I thought up, All Things Considered, I was watching A Nice Girl Like You starring Lucy Hale, and I fell in love with my young self all over again. As I watched this sexually frustrated woman play out on screen, watched as she did things outside of her norm, I realized I was similar.

 I had lost track of her over the years, finding/losing myself, forgetting about who I was when I was happiest, when I had promised. I let many people dictate my worth over the years, and it got me down. 

 I lived in a victim mindset for so long, wondering why I was constantly being pushed down. I realized it was because I wasn't sticking up for myself as an adult. I couldn't save myself as a kid, but my old ass could now. I had no excuses now.

 Neltilda "Nel" "Nelly" Hanson was created on a Saturday afternoon in my head; she was bright, vivid, and alive. She was me when I had hope.

And I was fucking ecstatic about her.

 I lost track of that beautiful, free-spirited girl, the one with hopes and dreams, who had a drive I envy to this day. She could power through ten books in a week, work part-time, pass high school, and not blink an eye. Not that I don't know, have hope, but I had dreams before the crushing world of being a Millennial became a reality; I got stuck in it, this survival mode.

 Nelly is social enough with the girls in high school that had similar wants and hobbies. She wants to be a writer just like the women who wrote her favorites; she wanted to be someone girls like she looked up to and wanted to be. She wanted to inspire the next generation of creatives.

 Nelly is me, circa 2003. I took this path because 2003-2007 me was gorgeous in every way; she was real. I stayed a virgin until I was 19; even today, I have people telling me about their most personal secrets upon first meeting. When I was in my Journalism class, I wanted to run an advice column, definitely in Cosmopolitan, or become a psychologist because, for four years, I was the go-to. The only time I mentioned to anyone, what we talked about confidentially, was when a friend told me she attempted to kill herself. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if she did. I'm glad she didn't because even though we don't talk anymore, she has a beautiful family and is married to the love of her life. I'm proud of her for sticking around even when things got tough.

 I wasn't okay with the thought of sitting. Still, I wanted a life of adventure. I wanted to travel, gain experiences, learn all the languages, read all the books, troll every garden, coffee shop, and rooftop in every city. But, as time went on, wars started, life changed, and my home life shifted. The abuse became something that wore me down, and I started working harder than ever, collecting houseware instead of books and planning to move as soon as humanly possible. In six years, my brain shifted from what I wanted to survival mode. I lost a lot of that young innocents. Still, I wanted to bring that back up with Nelly, my struggles as a young woman who held on to herself over the years, hoping for something better down the line. 

 I chose to skip the formative years of my personal life; I started fresh where I wanted to back then if things had been a little easier. What if my parents divorced instead of sticking it out? Would it have been better? Would I have stuck with journalism? Would I be in new York? What if I didn't marry the first guy I moved in with? What if, what if, WHAT IF?

 I don't hold much to thinking about the past because everything I went threw brought me here, where I'm at now, to my beautiful life. But I love dreaming about it. I've always had an active imagination, so story tales fit me a lot better than someone who lives many different lives or thinks about the depressive possibilities while residing in the Burbs. I love handcrafting a character to fit what I think would have happened. I'm a creature of struggle, so Nelly has her fair share. 

 There's beauty in the struggle, and I want to show that. It's the little things, the little moments, the being stuck in your head, the daydreams, the breakdowns. It's the happy moments, the sad ones, the happy tears, and everything in between. I want you to find the humor in the mundane, just like I do, and I try to craft it into beautiful pieces for your enjoyment.

 If Colleen Hoover's writing taught me anything this past year, it is that it's okay to write about real things, about struggle, about what you know. So, in All Things Considered, I'm choosing to write about my first loves: Teenage me, Writing, Romance, and New York City.

 It fits because I'm starting a new chapter in my life this year, and damnit, I'm excited again. I'm finding myself again after losing her there for a while, but with a lot more know-how and life experience, I'm a better writer for it.

 Now to just work on my grammar and editing skills! (Yikes.)

 Here's to finding your passion again after years of second-guessing yourself. Here's to finding yourself and making YOU the main character in your life story.

 You deserve it, girl. 

Poetry: Cold is the Tile

 Watching the clouds roll in my eyes,

The smell of Incoming trails on the wind,

As they fall, they drench me in a cool, cold sweat, 
My hands start to shake, and my vision goes blank, 

My head fills with doubt and every word ever used in vain, 
The curses, the yelling, the blame, 
On the outside, you see calm, but inside I'm reaching out for help,
You don't see it in humor and in my smile,
It lays wide open if you just ask,

But you don't,

So here I sit on cold tile, hand pressed to my heart,
Trying to stop the crying jag I'm in because anxiety has come back,
It never stays long; it comes quick and hard like an E5,
Leveling all progress in my path,

After the storm passed through, I was left panting,
I'm left cleaning up the mess I am,
Because you made me, 
I am left looking into my own, red-rimmed eyes,
Wondering how I am still here,
At an address, I've always had, even though I had moved,

WP #408

 

"Stop saying I'm fine when you're clearly not." Mason Gripped her shoulders.

"It's fine to say I'm fine when I'm not fine, but when someone says they're not fine, shit goes more sideways." Cc shrugged his hands off her shoulders as she slipped under his arm. "Thus, I'm fine."

"But you're not fine, Ceec. No matter how many times you say it." Mason turned and reached for her hand in time for her to catch his wrist and looked back at him, her eyes pleading. "I know you better than that."

"Please, let me suffer in silence. I'm giving you an out."

"I don't need an out when you show an ounce of emotions. I'm here, I've always been here, and you haven't scared me away yet. Let me be here for you." Mason circled his hand around hers and wound his fingers with hers.

"You're not my boyfriend, Mason; this isn't your territory." Cc raised her voice, pink tinging her cheeks.

"I could be, and you damn well know it, but your pride is-"

"My pride!"

"-holding you back from having a decent relationship." Mason shook his head and watched as she fumed quietly. "You know we would be fire together, you know it deep down, and it scares the hell out of you."

Cc mentally agreed, but at the same time, her reservations balked at the thought of trying the relationship thing with anyone. 

Especially Mason.

"It does scare the hell out of me; it should also make you shake in your boots as well. What if we failed? Do we lose our friendship too? Everything we built in five-plus years, just throw it away?" Cc turned away, walked into her kitchen, and slammed a cabinet door shut that had been standing open.

Mason watched her before he took a slow deep breath and exhaled with unhurried precision, counting to ten before he carried on.

"We wouldn't make it; you're right." He knew she wanted to hear those exact words; when she got into stubborn mode, you couldn't budge her. So if she was going to play dirty, then so was he. "Because you have singlehandedly ended it without even a thought that maybe, just maybe, we could make it. You are stopping us from existing, and that's why I constantly bring it up. I want to try from the bottom of my heart, but I refuse to do it alone."

He tapped his keys in his pocket as he watched her face fall from stubborn irritation to completely broken in the span of seconds, her hands hanging limp at her sides, and just in that instant, he looked away. With a turn of the heel, he walked to the front door and let himself out, letting the door latch behind him without looking back. 

Cc stood watching the door several minutes after leaving, which made her jump out of her skin when Madge spoke close behind her.

"Even in death, I'm still disturbed by why you two don't just have a fuck already."

"God Damnit Madge." Cc wailed.

"My thoughts exactly as I listened to the bullshit that you spewed. Mason already knows you're weird; if you just hit it home, he might understand you more." Madge's spirit form was draped across the countertop, much like her human self, spirit Madge made to lounge seductively across anything or anyone she came across.

"Even in death, you're still a pain in my ass."

"You're being stupid about this." Madge carried on, winding a whisp of ghost-like hair around her fingers. "I agree with my brother." 

"He did not call me stupid."

"More or less, you should give him a chance."

"And what? Tell him that I talk to his dead sister, amongst other dead people, and wait for him to realize I'm fucking insane?" Cc threw her hands up in exasperation. "I've spent a lifetime trying to avoid admitting to other humans that I talk to dead people."

"It could be worse." Her ghostly friend sat up and looked at her deadpanned. "You could be a pedophile."

Cc glowered at her friend and flipped her off as she turned and walked out. Madge grinned and floated down from the counter and floated after her.

"Hey, if Sunny in Philidelphia can joke about pedophiles, so can I on a friend-to-friend basis."

"I won't shame you, but I'll still flip you off for making too much sense." 

They came into her bedroom, and Cc turned and looked her friend up and down a moment before sighing.

"I miss you being alive."

"I don't; I get to scare the shit out of you and makes being dead worthwhile." Madge held her arms up, wiggling her fingers at her.

"Boo."

Writing Prompt: You've Got Mail

  You've Got Mail is classically beautiful in every sense. If you haven't watched it, you need to stop reading this and watch it NOW! It's on HBO's streaming application.
  
  This movie is full of life lessons, and no matter what phase of life I was in, there was always something prevalent in my current situations. To me, this movie is about change. About traditions changing, life-changing, love changing, changing your mind, and sometimes even your career. 
It's about right and wrong; it's about growing as a person and adapting to your surroundings. 

   I can watch this movie repeatedly and still, feel the same way I did when I first watched it. Nora Ephron knew how to masterfully twist a story until it came to life, winding its way through your soul.

  Not an actual Christmas movie, but you can catch me watching it at the start of November because this is MY holiday movie. It's deemed my let's get back to the basics, let's get into Christmas this year, kind of movie. 

But this year I realized I just didn't have the heart or the nerve to even decorate for Christmas. I didn't go shopping for anyone or save presents, I didn't have an ounce to give others this time.

I felt like Kathline Kelly this year, grieving over the loss of something big, about several decades of memories coming down to one moment, several days of just pushing on, and many, many tears being cried.

I did, however, get a last minute spark and went out amongst the masses to last minute shop for the first time ever. It was nice, mainly because as I reminded myself that I waited so it's my fault, waiting in line was fine, there wasn't a lot to pick from and that was okay too.

What I was most okay with, was letting myself realise that I did like certain aspects of Christmas, but as a Wiccan I don't need to decorate and celebrate like I used too. That it's okay to go off the cusp and do new things.

All in all, thanks to Nora Ephron, she knows how to heal my soul. 

Lyric Prompt: You are the Reason

You are the reason

There goes my heart beating

'Cause you are the reason

I'm losing my sleep

Please come back now

I think about you. I dream about you. I wonder if you stay awake like me too. 

On those long nights after a soulful cry, I wonder; Do you care?

I wait by the phone, waiting for the call, a call, ANY call, telling me you changed your mind. 

It hurts; the wait. 

And there goes my mind racing

And you are the reason

That I'm still breathing

I'm hopeless now

I can’t stop thinking, I’m breaking apart. I cry at a song, at a drop of a hat.

I came across the portrait from happier times and sat in the middle of the floor letting everything out.

The music played so loud, no one heard me. 

Tonight I wasn’t lucky, I started crying over a pork chop glaze. 

I couldn’t help the body-wracking sobs or the tears that trailed unchecked. 

I’m hopeless now. 

I'd climb every mountain

And swim every ocean

Just to be with you

And fix what I've broken

Oh, 'cause I need you to see

That you are the reason

I did so much to try and stay, I tried so hard to be okay. But crying in the bathroom or out in my car, trying to hide the hurt you caused by not causing a scene. I bit my tongue and let you lash out. 

Why now? You might ask, why would I bring this up now.

Because I thought you’d get better.

Hopeful thinking, I know. 

I thought things would change, they did, but not for the better; things got unbearable. 

You are the reason...

I thought, you out of everyone in my life, knew that a lifetime of abuse can shape a soul. You out of everyone should have known that it took every ounce inside me, to say something.

To say, anything. 

There goes my hands shaking

And you are the reason

My heart keeps bleeding

I need you now

The night you showed up, my last ounce of dignity that I held, shattered. It ran off the moment I opened that door and saw a pair of eyes who used to, simply, love me.

Did you ever? 

Do you now?

Those eyes weren't yours, they were vengeful. 

What I feel is abandonment, and this is not what a 32-year-old should feel like. I shouldn’t feel like I'm an adolescent, I shouldn't feel like that helpless kid starved for her parents attention. 

I need you now....

More than ever, but you\"re holding on to your blind ignorance to see I'm here, wanting you.

And if I could turn back the clock

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark

I'd spend every hour, of every day

Keeping you safe

I'm not strong enough to carry you, I never was, I was and still am a kid. I'm stuck feeling out of whack, off kilter and not always there. I get lost in memories, in a swirl of change that took my mother from me. 

I want what little relationship we had....back. Even though that wasn't great either, but you were still human.

Fucking up and admitting you weren't perfect. So what happened to that mom? I'll take the perfectly imperfect, broken, raw, pain in my ass every day of the week....

What I won\"t settle for is the shell of the woman you used to be. Bitterness changed you, and I couldn't save you.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never even save myself.

I couldn't keep you safe.

I don't wanna fight no more

I don't wanna hide no more

I don't wanna cry no more

Come back I need you to hold me (you are the reason)

Be a little closer now

Just a little closer now

Come a little closer

I need you to hold me tonight

Can you see?

This isn't what I wanted.

I wanted my family back.

The fucked up beautiful mess.

The gypsy souls, the vagabonds, the sinners who were saints and a family I was more than ‘okay’ with...

I don't want what we used to be, these barely hanging on to sanity humans, that\"s why I'm fighting.

That\"s why I've gone dark, and silent, and incommunicado...

I've gone through the court, the police, and domestic violence personnel to prove to you I'm not going to back down.

Last year was my darkest point, I needed that to get through this. 

What I needed from you, was as simple as showing up...

I needed you to hold me....

I needed you to not talk behind my back...

Or for it to get back to me. 

Ignorance is bliss, but so is letting go of over a decades worth of sweeping me under the run...

Sweeping all of it under the rug.

Aren't you tired? 

I sure as fuck am.

I'm tired of crying, of wondering, of racing the clock that are your lives, of wondering if the ‘call’ I'm waiting for is of one of you passing. 

And that because you wanted to hide your bullshit, instead of owning up to your part, that you chose to hide, instead of joining me in the light.

Of choosing to die instead of telling me, one last time that you do love me. 

That it has all been in my head. 

That you want to try, to renew my hope on family...

I've been in the dark too long...

Haven't you?