All Over Again

By Bud Koenemund

I think about you

every day. And, miss you

all over again.

Retreat

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For "Her."

  His eyes were drawn to her instantly. Like a firefly in the dark, she was a brilliant flash in the gloom. Catching sight of him, she waved. Memories flooded his brain: how he'd craved her like a drug; the indescribable pain of her leaving; how he'd desperately clung to shreds of sanity while hoping she'd come back, and how she did – more times than he'd admit – only to abandon him once he'd surrendered again. In that moment, his heart realized – finally, reluctantly, accepting – loving her would always end that way. He managed a weary smile, then turned to walk away.

Two Haiku

By Bud Koenemund

How Long?

How long does it take
to identify a face
you know like your own?


Forever

Someone tell my heart
Forever is a long time.
It won’t heed my brain.

I'm the Guy

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  I’m the guy who remembers little things you said six months ago – things you don’t even remember saying. I’m the guy who brags about how smart, and pretty, and funny you are. I’m the guy who sends “Good morning, Beautiful” texts, just to let you know I’m thinking about you. I’m the guy who tries to cheer you up after a bad day; who lives to see you smile; who’d bring you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick; who can talk about everything… and who knows when to say nothing.
  But, I’m never the guy you fall in love with.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  It’s not the money; let’s be clear about that from the start. Though $140 for the special edition, collectible bottle of whiskey she needed to complete her set wasn’t cheap, I had the money… and a desire to please her.
  No, the issue is the glaring example of my continued foolishness; of how – during a global pandemic – I set out upon a quest for this grail: an item she’d mentioned once, months before, during a late-night discussion about things we collect. For me, another lesson in idiocy; thinking that showing I cared for her, and listened to her, mattered.

Modern Muse

 By Bud Koenemund

Each time my phone “dings,”
my heart hopes that it is you.
My mind knows it’s not.

A Fire Once Incandescent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  Rain pelted the umbrella spread above them. The droplets – furious and unrelenting – splattered against the black nylon, then joined in silver rivulets that ran over the edge to seek the ground. The couple, soaked from the knees down, huddled close as gusts of wind whipped along the gray concrete canyon, threatening their fragile shelter.

  Reaching the entrance of her building, they hesitated for a few moments, neither wanting to let go; each lamenting the drowning of a fire once incandescent. Recognizing her, the doorman fumbled his way into the maelstrom, extending his own umbrella, too late, as she ran past.

There's Nothing More to See Here

The chalk outline, white against the concrete,
Marks the scene of the crime, as a crowd
Gathers, like greedy vultures, in the street.
“Did someone jump?” a voice calls out loud;
“Heart attack?” “Yes,” a cop answers, as he
Unspools police tape to control the mob.
“Well…no,” he thinks to himself. “Not really.”
“People, move back now, let me do my job!”
As a cold drizzle falls, he turns to see
Initials scrawled inside the dusty heart
Blur slowly, then melt away in a sea
Of tears, as two lovers, now torn, depart.
“Folks,” the cop says, as a dream disappears,
“Move along; there’s nothing more to see here!”