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I sleep with my window open.

Finding all the warmth I need from my blankets,
I entertain the cold world,
I like the Security of a quilt,
I hide behind my sheets,
It's a cold, self-inflicted pain,

Ill-tempered air,
And idolized duvet,
Idiocy at it's best,

There's a reminder there,
Of a life that could be better,
I save myself, night after night,
With a refuge that wouldn't be needed,
If it weren't for my own doing,

I may be better off,
I knew it was possible,
But for some reason,
I chose the struggle,

Fighting for comfort,
Battling for a sleep uninterrupted,
By wind, element, rain and raging strata,

It's my own doing,
The destruction of the life I've been given,
The cold kept me human,
That's how I wanted it,

Pretending it was possible for me to exist,
With nothing but what I had bought for myself,

I choose to believe,
That life would be no better off,
If I were to just get up
and close the window;

That is my great misfortune.

jf. x

When We Grew Up.

When we grew up, I had hoped we wouldn't change like this.

Where once a field was bright green, joyous, and opportune, I now see a pointless space that reminds me of the scars we left, we left each other.

I had thought we'd still be there, in the lush green plane, still playing with each other.

When you fell in love, my heart sank.

When I went away, I looked for the friendship I always had with you.

Others, those who refused to change, are no better off; they are incomplete and alone.

They deny it happens, but they too lament the past.

Our Golden years ended too soon, but here are no seconds of regret.

All the time spent with you was not wasted, though it might be now.

We were journeying along our own paths.

I'm so glad I got to be apart of yours for the moments I was; I'm sad to see us part.

With so many places and corners, I pray that we meet again.

Maybe during transaction on an intersection, we'll remember what we once knew.

I thought I'd left you behind, but when I turned to find you, I saw your back.

We'd both gone in a different direction.

Can you blame me for trying?

jf. x

Go to The Beach and Roar for Boldness

A title by jason cairelli,
A story by j. f. hawkins


It buzzed in his pocket.

His phone.

He had an idea of who it might be. He wasn’t going to answer. But it became evident to the thirty or so people sitting on the bus (& possibly to him), that he had the worst ring tone ever.

As he reached for the device, the technological tumor, he wondered who the idiot was that thought it was a good idea to be contactable 24/7, anywhere you were. Though he came to the conclusion that he was a bigger idiot for buying in; still, he wanted an iPhone.

He had to answer it. He had to take a bullet for the team, the thirty or so commuters growing tired of the monographic imitation of the “Funky town” intro he had worked so hard on the night before. They hated him for two reasons. Funky Town would be stuck in their heads all day &, despite his efforts, he had incorrectly programmed the last note of the infamous melody much to flat…. Unforgivable. Completely unforgivable.

Caller ID had dispelled any chance of mystery. Clear as daylight, Jeremy was calling him. Why is it that the only name to ever appear on that little screen is the name he’d be happy to never see again?

He had the same though every time Jeremy was calling.

Jeremy was well meaning. He found communality with him because they were both alone in this foreign country and that they were both originally from the same country and had lived in similar areas.

He was the type of middle aged male that had the vocal straining of a prepubescent boy & a laugh without any flow or control. If he found something funny, which was everything, he’d produce a low quality, single sounded bellow- loud and irritating like the afore mentioned cover of ‘funky town’.

“Hello Jeremy”, he said. In truth, he was thinking of saying, “You’re a problem. How am I going to get rid of you?”

Jeremy made an inquiry as to what his plans were for the evening. Normally, given such a case, it would have been easy to make something up; prearranged plans to see a friend for birthday drinks, or say he has his parent coming around for dinner. He could even fake being sick. But unfortunately, our hero’s options were limited. He had no friends to be seeing, he’s parents were back home, a thirty hour flight away & he’d used the sick line the week before- “I’ve got one of those… ah?... twenty four hour bugs when ya sick for 24 hours. So, I’m sick tonight, but I’ll be fine to see that thing on Sunday. You’re still getting tickets right?”

Quite a situation. Spirits thwarted by predicament, he swallowed his pride and agreed to the dinner invitation.

The master of images, he never let on that he’d rather throw his first born child into a blender than be at Jeremy’s house that evening; sharing in a nice bottle of wine, laughing at the day-to-days of life, eating a gourmet mean prepared by Jeremy’s own hands- His weedy fingers. Creepily long and thin.

He was only just becoming aware of just how horrible he really was. He knew he needed to develop a backbone, rather than a passive aggressive personality and a smile.

Tonight, he will go to Jeremy’s house. It’s possible that he’s going to hate every minute of it, but as soon as it’s finished, as soon as the inconvenient soirée is over, he’ll walk for a while, until he’s in a place where he is happy.

Sitting on the bus, he have himself one command, “Tonight is the last night you accept an invitation with regret, then, right after, you’ll go to the beach and roar for boldness”

jf. x