Bee Sting

As I glanced at my Romanian pendant,
The light had caught it,
Making it appear to look like
A bee stuck inside amber.
The charm,
Now I realize,
Is a bee sting.
Hurting my soul
Is the constant reminder
Of what I will always miss,
And never be able to name.



Chest Hair

A few weeks back, my Russian had a long chest hair. I think it might have been one of his first ones. His best friend saw it, because I asked him to look at it. I was excited by the one hair because it makes me think about potentialMy Russian seemed uncomfortable with the hair, and so I plucked it with my finger tips. Then he exclaimed that maybe it would be the only chest hair that he’d ever have. I shook my head at him and kissed him, a sign not to worry so much about it; that I didn’t care about the hair or no hair on his body.

In my dream, he had a full chest of hair. Long, dark curls covered him. I was grossed out and asked him to get rid of it. He wouldn’t. Instead, he showed everyone his hair and was holding a grudge with me for pulling that one hair. He beamed at what he looked like now.


Doll Theft

I was with my Russian. We were at a church setting, a gathering, but it was actually at the college I graduated from. There were many people there, and they started to talk about abortion. The people were going to show what abortion actually did the body of the fetus, but my Russian stole the doll from the speaker. He started to run away with it. I ran after him and was yelling at him, my attempt to persuade him to return the doll. I didn’t want him to get arrested for such a thing as stealing a doll. My Russian ignored me but a guard finally did stop him. The guard was standing on a deck that curved around sharply. The guard was holding a paper bag in his hands. The bag had a burger in it, and my Russian finally dropped the toy and he didn’t get arrested for petty theft.