Fiction, Health, My Thoughts, Photography/Visual Art, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Photo Challenge Prompt: Fiction – Wishing You’d Stayed


Thanks to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for hosting this photo prompt.


Man Against Blue
Ronnie Garcia Moron

 It takes a great deal of pushing and a lot of poking to make me angry, but Yasmine knew which buttons to push. The neighbors never heard us fight, until that night in August.

“You always want to be together; I can’t be with you all the time. I’ve work and sometimes I need alone time, and occasionally, guy time.” I yelled.

Yasmine flicked back her long brown hair and laughed at my rage; she was far away inside her head again; I could tell.

“Look who’s upset,” she said softly. “It took me a long time to make you this angry, Logan. I thought you would never notice me. You’re always leaving me home alone.”

“Yasmine, I’m extremely upset at you, scared for your mental well being, and scared for our relationship. But you think my words are a joke.” I say.

She laughs and slids her arm around my shoulders. I shrug it off. Yasmine crosses her arms and says:”Calm down Logan. Stop being such an ass. Your married, you don’t get space anymore.”

“Being married doesn’t mean no space.You never used to be this way Yasmine. You did stuff with your friends and visited relatives. You also worked as a successful interior designer.” I told her.

“Now, you stay home all day and you lay in bed. I’m trying and I know you’re not well. But one of us has to work and support us financially. You need to look for ways to occupy your time. Read, write, watch TV, walk, or pretend you’re designing a new interior space.”

Yasmine gave a thin smile at my suggestions. “I suppose you want me to keep visiting the psychiatrist, the doctor who says I’m suffering from depression because I lost our baby.” Tears leaked out of Yasmine’s deep brown eyes. I wiped them away.

“I think it’s best for you Yasmine. The psychiatrist makes sense. You’re sad, tearful, and you can barely make it out of bed. You’re also anxious and you’ve terrible self-esteem right now. When I tell you you’re wonderful, talented, and beautiful, you don’t believe me. Yesterday, you said you believed you were a baby killer.” I said.

Yasmine smirked.”Before the baby died, I believed you. Now, I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth. I’m in awful shape and I think you’re placating me. I believe you’d rather by anywhere else and not with me.”

“Listen,” I told Yasmine. ” When I said I need space, all I meant was I need some time each week, where I can tye up loose ends from work. I also need a night away from you every week or two. For my own mental health, I need a few hours where I can forget and not deal with our issues.” 

“I talked to your friends Becca and Lynn,” I told her. “They said they’d love to take turns hanging out with you one night a week if you’re okay with that? You guys could go see a movie or go shopping, something along those lines?” 

Yasmine buried herself beneath the comforter on the couch.”I don’t want to see my friends, look at me? And I need you here Logan; I was thinking, we could have another baby?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want another baby with you sweet heart, ” I say carefully. “I keep telling you, it’s not your fault Jacob died. It happens to many woman with their first pregnancy. It’s just right now, you’re still recovering from losing Jacob.” I told Yasmine.

She covered her ears, “I don’t want to hear it Logan. Stop talking. It’s my fault Jacob died; I didn’t take care of myself. Now, I’m sick and I feel I can’t do anything. Everything makes me tired and I’m so mad at myself.”

I sat down beside Yasmine and rubbed her back.” Relax. We have time. Work on feeling better. Try to take a short walk, even around the block. Be in the sun on the patio to get more vitamin D and sleep whenever you need. However, you have to promise to take your pill.” I said.

“I don’t want to! I hate my med. It makes me feel foggy.” Yasmine complained.

“The doctor says in a month or so, when you’re used to the medication, the fogginess will go away. But you have to let your body get used to the anti-depressant. I notice when you take them, you’re much happier. You get out of bed. You make conversation. You sketch out designs for rooms,” I tell her.

“But Logan . . .”

“Please, for two-weeks, try taking your pill. If you don’t, the Doctor says you’ll have to go back in hospital, Yasmine, ” I begged.

Suddenly, Yasmine flew into a rage. She pushed at me and screamed. She grabbed her car keys before I could catch her and snuck in the elevator. When I reached her parking space, it was empty. I’ve never seen Yasmine again.


Yasmine’s my wife and it hurts me to know she could be anywhere and I can’t help her. I don’t know if she’s well or still suffering from depression. No one’s been able to find her, not even a private detective.

I grieved for Yasmine. It took me two-years before I started writing my stories down in journals. I thought, when Yasmine came back, she could read about what happened in my life after she left. I tried to make my journal entertaining for her to read.

Then, they found her body. Parts of me ached which I never knew existed, when I learned Yasmine was dead. I’m not sure how they can find out how she died now. But I’ve convinced myself I caused her to commit suicide.

I tear the pages out of my journals; I had had them bound and printed into volumes for Yasmine to read. Now I know she will never be able to read what I wrote. 

Broken and grieving, I destroyed all my journal volumes. All the typed pages scattered across the floor in my office. Broken journals, like my heart. 

How does one heal after hurting so long, believing their other half, couldn’t be dead? 


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Word High July, Writing

Poem: Tankas – ” Beyond Fondness” #wordhighjuly #poetry #tankas #amwriting



——–

http://www.pinterest.com

——–

Humaling, fondness.

Of extreme quality, 

Fond for certain friends.

Caring, great deal for family.

Beloved Aunt; Grandma, niece.

——-

Searching deeper seems, 

Such fondness as humaling.

Means fondness further.

Not merely affection heartfelt, 

Special love given, which is free.

——-

Not feelings, fondness —

For your relations or friends.

Humaling, loving, 

Your other half, their presence.

Emotions driving deep love.

——

True love; which locks two.

A mysterious connection felt,

Never the same with —

Anyone ever existing.

Causing heart beats so in sink.

—–

Time may alter love.

Authentic love, means no limits.

Makes you speechless, soft.

Sore secrets in open air.

Your lover, a bearer of your strife.

——

You know their secrets.

Share in joys and sorrow too.

Extreme fondness hurts.

It’s beneath the surface shown, 

Hurts and trials woven with love.

——

Release one thread; help —

Your kindred spirit, beloved.

Sleep not in anger.

Satisfied; in love ’til death.

Not only fondness; in love.

——-

Your piece of puzzle, 

Missing until a fated, 

Day; you find them lost.

Together complete a circle, 

Forever, love beyond bliss.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Event, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Relationship, Writing

Poem: Quatrains on Life


It’s hard to shut my mind off.

There’s no switch, so it keeps wandering,

Down the paths of will I and should I?

Through the trails of could I? Would I?

——-

I think I’ve been making some important steps.

I also think there are parts of the wheel,

That still haven’t turned and the process is slow,

But I try to do well just the same.

——

I’m stuck in a pattern and it’s not right,

To fear having so many people around,

To wonder how long until my body gives out,

To wish for meaning, but instead I’ll drift.

——-

Idle, conversation, I am merely there to be there,

To see a girl who lights up the world.

But her candle’s been flickering lately.

Even though she is doing well; I worry,

—–

She’s breaking the back of a milicious monster,

It starts with a “C” it’s a terrible disease,

But she doesn’t give it power, 

It’s why she refers to it as ‘Boobitas.’

—–

Maybe, she is being cute but I have to agree,

Power lies with the fears we let overcome us,

And she has a life to live, a baby to love.

Better not to let the ‘C’ word devour.

—–

Tomorrow night there will be a party,

To celebrate her thirty years on earth.

Many will have with them their other half,

But I’m devasted by many guys these days,

——

I don’t want to be alone, but I’m not desperate,

But to date in your thirties living with Mom,

Makes the dating process harder.

Not to mention it’s hard for me to be out long with my health,

—–

I miss being a couple, but I don’t want my ex back.

I’ve been there before and done that.

And I’ve talked to many guys, they are quick,

And many are sly, they aren’t interested in putting effort in, or talk,

—–

They only want a woman whose warm,

I write stories and I read them too,

Guys in books they don’t exist,

And when I go to write a character,

——

I follow the literary tradition of writing books about guys woman want,

But don’t exist in the real world,

I’m not sure I could write a real guy,

I’m not sure what the ideal real-life guy is like,

——

He would probably eat a lot and want a lot of sheet twisting, 

When you go out, he’d say ‘you choose.’

Then not tell you when he hates it.

And he wouldn’t go with you again,

—–

I don’t think there were ever wonderful princes,

I don’t think there are wonderful millionaires or billionaires.

I think there are a lot of people,

Choosing to stay single because they can’t find their person.

——

But then I see my friends with husbands,

I see their boyfriends and I know they are doing well,

Perhaps, I’m on the outside looking in,

But my past relationship was never quite right.

—–

These are only things I wonder, when I’m tired on a Friday night,

When I had plans but it didn’t work out,

At least I sold my old IPad, slow friend.

And my new one is so fast she purs.

——

And I’m submitting writing to all these different places, 

I’m trying to build a portfolio of published work.

But it takes time to craft stories and poems,

Even posted here, they still require work.

—–

So, If nothing else I am productive,

And looking to live my writing dreams,

The mouse typing  in a pile of rodents spinning, 

Tomorrow my friend is thirty and even that’s not enough time to be friends with her. 

—-

©Mandibelle. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Relationship

Poem: My Other Half


I thought you were my other half

But I couldn’t keep my doubts

To myself, anymore.

So, your not my other half

I’m the one whose fault it is

I ended us, and now I mourn.

Wish, you were my other half.

We’ve been together for awhile.

Now, I broke our bond.

Tried to be the girl for you

But in the end one difference eluded

Our religious values were too varied

And I’m ashamed I had to do it

Had to cut myself away from one I love

Now our hearts our broken

And you will go on being wonderful you

I will cry in shame

Because I let you get away

I will go away

And I don’t think anyone 

will love me like you did

But love is not enough

To a marriage make.