I’m sooooo close to finishing my latest book of essays and poetry Broken Places (set for release before Christmas from Booktrope). Yay! Today I’m sharing an excerpt about … well, you tell me. I’d love your thoughts.
Pick up Broken Pieces today — 99c sale (for one more day) on Amazon (eBook). No Kindle required.
THE OTHER SIDE OF WORDS
by Rachel Thompson
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him. The gravity pushing me down so that I became a micro version of myself, voice tiny, movements small.
“You need to go. I can’t do this anymore,” I say in a rushed, pained whisper, pushing it out before I can breathe it back in, before it can beat me down anymore.
He hangs his head. It was coming. He knew it was coming. How could he not? We hadn’t fucked in years, hadn’t touched in months. My desire for him ceased the day he lost my faith.
Such a complicated swirl comes to down to this, a simple haiku of randomly plucked words. It’s over. It has been. Echoes of what we had torture us, but those are only ghosts, memories that taunt us with promises of what we once had. Happy pictures don’t capture the resentful sadness behind our brightly lit eyes.
You convince me that I need you, but I’m better alone. I have been for so long now. If being alone means depending on myself, on my quiet determination, on peace and gratitude, then I’ll be making my way now.
I’ve learned that this is not my place. I’m not really who you think I am. I need more than you can give. I asked, you denied. I needed, you laughed. I gave, you took.
It’s not all you. I can’t give you what you need anymore. I’m not an actor. I can’t fall at your feet and eat your words as if they are the best I’ve ever tasted. I’m a writer and words matter.
And maybe that is my elemental, as crucial to me as water. I accept that words aren’t the same ethereal, beautiful creatures to you.
You used words, discarding them meaninglessly, without thinking, whereas I thought they held meaning.
I found what you will never see: that my love resides on the other side of words.





