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This was inspired by a writing prompt asking us to take the first line of our favorite song and write a story using it as the first line. If you have a similar story, please share below.

“There’s room between your heart and the chair where I’ve been sleeping.”  The sleeping arrangement might be new, but the ever present feeling of distance has been growing between us for months now. I haven’t wanted to say anything in hopes that it was just a temporary thing. I thought maybe it was something we’d work through in time, but that just hasn’t been the case. Surely, you’ve noticed it as well.

You would think after 3 years together we would have plenty to talk about. There is a quite a history between us. And yet, every night when we’re both home from work there is silence. Can you even remember the last time we laughed together? I can. It was 2 months ago in Nashville. We were on the General Jackson cruise during Xmas when I slipped and fell walking around the deck.  That was a good night. I miss seeing your parents.

Why haven’t we had any nights like that since? We used to laugh like that all of the time.  For the rest of my life, I’ll never forget you asking me if I knew the “fuck you” song the first night we met. You bopped back and forth and moved your hands like a rapper when you sang it to me. That always brings a smile to my face.

Nothing like that happens anymore. We haven’t been on a real date or even hung out with friends lately. All we do is come home and watch the television and we don’t even do that together. I know you say you need time to yourself, but it seems like you’re not interested in including me in your time at all. Whatever we used to have…the friendship, fun, trust, it seems like it’s all gone out the window. Doesn’t it bother you to live in the same house as me, sleep in the same bed, and yet have no clue what’s going on in my life? Maybe we’ve just run out of things to talk about?

Do you still want this? Us? I’ve been asking myself those questions a lot lately and I’m not so sure what I want anymore. Maybe we’ve reached that point in the relationship where we only love each other as friends and we aren’t actually “in love” anymore. Sometimes I find myself wishing I’d catch you cheating on me, or yelling at me, or anything negative just so I wouldn’t feel so guilty for thinking these things. At least then I could point at something and say “that right there is why shouldn’t be together anymore.” But there is nothing to point at. We don’t fight. We’ve stayed loyal. And we still respect each other. So, why don’t I feel like we love each other anymore?

I’m tired of feeling sad. Even more, I’m tired of feeling alone in my own house when I know you’re coming home every day. In all of my life, I’ve never felt anything quite like this. Who knew you could feel this alone despite living with the person you love more than anything you’ve ever loved before?

I’ve tried to figure this out for weeks, and it just doesn’t make sense. Do you have any ideas? I want this to work, but I just don’t know what to change. Where would we even start? How do we start having fun together again when we don’t even know what the problem is?

You’ve been my best friend for a long time now. There isn’t a person on this planet who knows more about me. You know every secret, all of my dreams, every single skeleton in my closet. I’ve shared things with you I never dreamed of sharing with someone before.  I’m afraid to let all of that go. It’s been so long, I don’t know how to be alone and that scares me.

And you deserve more than this. We both do. I’ve seen you happy before and the person I’m looking at right now isn’t happy. You deserve to feel that happiness we once felt and you deserve to feel that every day for the rest of your life. It kills me to say this, but I want you to be happy, even if it isn’t me that makes you smile anymore. We’d only be lying to each other to continue the relationship when it’s been spiraling out of control like this with no end in sight.

I know that deep down this isn’t what either of us really wants. If we could point a magic wand at our relationship and fix everything, we’d both do it in a heartbeat.  But we can’t. It’s going to be extremely difficult learning to live without each other in the coming months. We won’t be there for one another anymore. I’m sure I’ll feel like I can’t do it alone at first. I know there will be some growing pains, but in time we’ll learn to stand on our own two feet again and hopefully we’ll find the sustaining love we couldn’t find in each other.

I’m not sure how you even end a conversation like this. “Okay, goodnight” just doesn’t seem appropriate. I’m sorry that we’ve come to this point, but here we are. I’m going to miss everything about you, but I’ve been missing just that for a long time now and that’s why it’s time for us to move on. Please never forget that I love you.


Dear Conscience

This was inspired by a writing prompt asking us to write a letter apologizing to our conscience. If you have a similar story, share a link below.

Dear Conscience,

After years of disagreements and endless arguments, I think it’s time I write you a note of apology.

Like nobody else in my life, you’ve always been there for me. It’s rare that you come across someone who undoubtedly has your best interests at heart. For that, I’d like to thank you. You’ve put up with me through some horrible decisions and very trying times .There were the decisions I took your advice and only listened half-heartedly, only to pay for my indifference later. And there were times, despite your best efforts, I took your advice and unequivocally spit in the face of all you’d warned me against and paid dearly. I’m sorry.

Throughout our friendship, one of the main themes you attempted to impart on me was to always do what makes me happy. I may not have had a clear idea what those things were specifically. But it was a great injustice to argue with you for years and do nothing simply because I didn’t have the courage to face the unknown and risk failure.

It’s been at least 10 years now we’ve been discussing what I should be doing with my life professionally. To be fair, for the beginning 3 or 4 years I didn’t give you much information to work with. However, around that 4 year timeframe I started letting you know how much I enjoyed reading. In time, my interest in reading led me to think that writing was possibly a career I could see myself doing. Most important to you, it would have been a job that would have made me happy as far as I could tell.

We started having discussions quite often regarding my professional future, and you were always steadfast in your response. “Do what makes you happy”. For advice that is so straightforward and honest, I wonder to this day why I had such trouble taking it in. I used to argue that I had already put in more than 75% of the time towards another degree and future. What was the point in starting over when the finish line was so already within my grasp? You would tell me that I have my whole life to work and that the journey was just beginning, always reminding me that the few extra years I’d have to put towards fulfilling my new goal would be insignificant when compared to the frustration I’d endure ending up in a career I didn’t love. And all because I was in a hurry to cross the college finish line.

Again, I’m sorry. As always, you knew best. I feel as if this note of apology is only the first step in making up for the years of disrespect I’ve shown you and your advice. Just like me, I’m sure you’re tired of the wordplay and broken promises I seem to always direct your way. The time calls for action, and I think I’m finally coming around to that realization that I’ll never be happy being inactive. I know what I want now and nobody is going to give it to me out of the kindness of their heart. It might be a little harder to achieve compared to 5 or 6 years ago, but my goals are still attainable. The only missing piece is my effort.

For years, you’ve been telling me just that. Everything I want is mine for the taking, but it’s up to me to reach out and snatch it. I may not have the journey all mapped out from point A to Z, but the drive is there and it’s all thanks to your unmatchable perseverance to guide me. Thank you for sticking with me for so long. Thank you for never giving up on me no matter how much I ignored you. Thank you.

Your loyal friend,


This was inspired by a writing prompt asking us to describe the worst fight we’ve ever had with a parent. If you have a similar story, share a link below.

For most of my life I’ve considered myself a laid-back type of guy. There weren’t too many things you could throw at me that I couldn’t find a way to brush of my shoulder and move on with my day like nothing ever happened.

One of the worst arguments I’ve ever had with one of my parents happened when I was 16. It was February 1999 and only two months earlier my mom had passed away. Like almost every Saturday of my teens I was upstairs in the “TV Room” lounging on the couch watching what else but TV when the phone rang.  After debating if it was worth the effort to sit up and answer the phone for a call I knew wasn’t meant for me, I decided to pick up the phone.


“Is your Dad there?” a voice of a man I’m not familiar with says with a less than friendly tone.

“No, I’m not sure where he is.”

“This is _______, Suzie’s boyfriend. Tell him to call me when he gets home.”

Right away I knew what was going on. My dad was dating and my lifelong equanimity was gone.

I remember my heart sinking to the bottom of my stomach and not knowing what to do. For the next 10 minutes I paced the upstairs of my house going from my brother’s room, to my room, to the TV room and back again waiting for my Dad to come home.

Do I say something? Should I be mad? What are my grandparents going to think when they find out my Dad is dating a new woman? What will my brother and sister think about this? Is this woman’s boyfriend going to stock my dad and hurt him?

I had so many questions running through my mind and nobody to talk too. Unfortunately, that was a feeling that would become par for the course over the next few years in that house.

Eventually my dad made it back home from doing whatever it was he was doing. Sitting there with all those questions inside of my mind and no way to release them led to a feeling of panic and desperation. Anyone with a working knowledge of psychology can tell you those two feelings bottled up will only lead to one thing….anger. I was a bottle of diet soda waiting for someone to drop a roll of mentos inside of me.

I made my way downstairs into the kitchen to find my dad and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Dad, some guy called here today asking for you and he sounded pretty mad.”

“Did he say who it was?” he answered, the nervousness showing on his face.

“Yeah, he said he was Suzie’s boyfriend and he needed to talk to you.”

My dad was caught and he knew it. Instead of owning up to the situation, he decided to keep quiet and hope I would drop the conversation. But there was no way I was walking away from the conversation without finding out what was going on.

“Why is this guy calling the house dad?”

“I asked Suzie to go see a movie as friends and her ex-boyfriend doesn’t like it. He’s been calling her house too.”

Right then and there I had all the information I needed and the aforementioned mentos were dropped. Every ounce of anger, sadness, and pain that I had held in since my mother passed away came out in the worst way possible over the next few minutes.

“Why do you need to go the movies with another woman?” I screamed, the rage taking over. My voice began to quiver, tears rolled from my eyes, and my body began to quake.

“It’s just a movie and it’s only as friends.”

“Who cares? Mom just died two months ago. Why do you need friends so bad all of the sudden? What about us?”, I asked, referring to my brother and sister and I.

“Everyone needs friends.”

“What do you need friends for? You’re an old man. You have kids to think about. And why are you dating someone you work with? What about your rule about not hiring anyone you know from your personal life? Did that rule go out the window when my mom died and you decided you needed “friends”? I thought I had him there, but there was no end to this mess in sight.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be 41 years old and by yourself. I need a friend…someone to talk to”.

It must have went on for twenty minutes…me, screaming my heart out and my dad yelling back about his unyielding desire for friendship he had held in for all of two months.

My heart hurt beyond belief. When you are 16 and your mother dies, two months is no time at all to cope with the pain. Everyday was something different I had to deal with. No longer was my mom in the kitchen when I got home from basketball practice asking how my day was. In those two months I had to adjust to coming home to an empty house. I hadn’t even begun to heal and here my dad goes and starts dating someone.

Eleven years later and I still haven’t forgiven my dad for the things I learned that day. This December he marries the woman he decided he needed to be friends with. Should I be happy for my dad? Maybe.  I’ve tried ignoring the problem, the woman he dated, my dad, I’ve gone to psychotherapy, and tried countless other methods to help move beyond this issue.

Without a doubt this is the hardest problem I’ve ever had to deal with. I was a kid with a heart I thought couldn’t be broken any further only to have my dad rip out whatever was left and step all over it.  When I picked the phone up that day I didn’t think that was the beginning of a dilemma that would haunt me for the next decade and who knows how many more years into the future.

Every great thing my dad ever did was overshadowed from that point on. Lately, I’ve been asking myself if the fight is with my dad or within my own mind. He’s happy and ready to start a new life with someone that makes his days a little easier. And me, I go back and forth inside my mind wondering if I even want to do something as simple as making a phone to see how my dad is doing. This laid-back kind of guy isn’t so easygoing anymore.

The Life of a Fly

You think your life sucks? Walk a mile in my shoes. Better yet, fly a mile in my wings.

The name’s Glide. I’m 13 days old, but with only two or three days left to live, I figured now’s the perfect time to write down Memoirs de Glide. For those of you short on time like myself, let me sum the story up quickly for you. The life of a housefly sucks.

I was born on a pile of wet cow shit 2 weeks ago, May 6th, with 250 of my brothers and sisters. Talk about a raw deal. Not only was I born on a pile of shit, but how am I supposed to compete with 250 other houseflies to get any attention from my parents? Yeah, you guessed it. There was no guidance for this fly…none whatsoever.

Right from the start I was left to fend for myself. If I have anything to be thankful for, I guess I can take solace in the fact that I actually made it long enough to earn my wings. Most of my relatives never make it this far, and really, there’s nobody but you humans to blame for that. I can’t tell you how many of my cousins were mercilessly fed to your pet chameleons over the years. Have you no mercy?

Anyways, back to my life story.  Back to my place of birth…that hot steamy pile of shit on the farm. Home, sweet home.

Of all the times to turn from a maggot to fly, I had to do it in the rain. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but we can’t fly when we’re born. Our wings are wet, and until we air dry, we have to chill. Well, it’s kind of hard for your wings to dry when you’re sitting around in a three hour rainstorm. Three hours might not seem like much to you, but when you only live for fifteen days, you’ll take every second you can get.

Finally, after the rain stopped, my wings were dry and it was time to fly. But where should I go? Like I said, when you have 250 brothers and sisters to contend with, parental advice doesn’t really exist. I decided to head where the food was…the farmer’s kitchen.

My first time in flight was great. Talk about freedom. I could fly anywhere I wanted, whenever I wanted. I guess you can call me a drifter. But I was on a mission. I wanted to eat. The closer I flew to the house, the stronger the smells became and I grew more and more excited. Watermelon, apples, cake…you name it, it was in that kitchen.

Slowly, I approached the window. 5 feet…4 feet…3 feet…2 feet…1 foot…BAM! It’s like I said before, no parental advice. How was I supposed to know you can’t fly through glass? I must have spent a good 2 hours buzzing around outside looking for a way through that window. And you know what? That annoying buzzing sound we make with our wings…well, it annoys the hell out of me too. All I wanted was to land on a sweet piece of watermelon and suck a little juice. Instead I bounced off glass for 2 hours, all the while driving myself insane with that incessant buzzing sound.

Finally, one of the humans inside the house cracked the window open so I could get inside. What can I say? It was bliss. Not only was there a smorgasbord of food on the table for me to suck down, but the garbage can was filled to the brim. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more…fresh watermelon on the table or week old cheese in the trash? After careful thought, I decided when your life is only two weeks long, you don’t cheat yourself…you splurge. Ahh, those were the best minutes of my life.

After a few minutes of eating myself into a stupor, I figured I’d make my way back outside and explore what else the world had to offer. Full of juice and delicious garbage bits, I made my way back to the window I came in through earlier. BAM! God dammit! Again, with the window! So here I am, high on life and full of moldy gouda, and I’m stuck banging into windows again. The life of a housefly sucks.

Instead of buzzing around all night looking for a way out, I decided I’d sleep the cheese off and found a nice place in the top corner of the window to rest. It must have been 8 hours I slept that night. Talk about sleeping your life away! I needed to wake up and make something of my life already! Feeling my life pass before my eyes, I tried with my entire mite to get outside. Buzzzzzzz! Bam! Buzzzzzzz! Bam! Those are the only two sounds I heard for the next ten minutes as I tried everything in my power to free myself from this house.

Finally, morning came and one of the humans made their way into kitchen. It must have been my lucky day. Things were finally turning around for me as the human started to open the window. I was so excited I couldn’t hold my excitement in. Buzz! Buzz! I was flying in circles, buzzing up a storm when I heard the human say something like “Honey, where is the fly swatter”.

Not even a minute later, I was flying for my life. Buzz! Bam!Buzz! Bam! Someone open the damn window already! As I frantically flew into the window again and again trying to escape, I couldn’t help but think how flies get the raw end of the deal. Are we really that bad that humans needed to come up with a weapon specifically designed to kill us? Oh you wouldn’t hurt a fly? Bullshit!

Eventually, I found a safe place to hide, and when the time was right I made my way back outside through one of those doors I saw their dogs walk through.

So, now it’s day two of my all too short life. Typically, Day 2 in a fly’s life is kind of dull. All we can do is eat as we’re still a day away from being mature enough to procreate. I decided to take it easy in a nearby garbage can, eat, and contemplate how I was going to go about getting laid the next day. You see, this is another area where I can say that a fly’s life sucks. The women only need us once! Can you believe that shit? We blow one load and the women store our baby goo in them for days and create multiple batches of maggots off one load.

And that’s it, by the time I was 3 days old, my life had pretty much climaxed. I had nothing to do but eat for another week and a half and wait to die.

But after about another week of flying around from garbage can to garbage can, I decided I wanted to get back to my roots. It must be something all flies go through, as I noticed we were all on the same mission.

As humans, I’m sure you have noticed that flies are a little preoccupied with shit. Our women lay the eggs there, we’re born there, and eventually all flies become obsessed with going back there. Why? Well, if a pile of shit can give us life, maybe it can extend it as well? And that’s why you’ll always find a fly around stinky mound of crap. We just want to live people. We just want to live.

I’m told this is the first time any fly has taken time to write down his thoughts. I hope my little memoir has given you a clearer picture of what it’s like to be a fly. So the next time you’re thinking to yourself “man, my life sucks”, just know it could be worse…you could be a fly.