***Not entirely sure if "I'm back" but I think I'm up to sharing my writings with you once again. I miss my babies (Gibbs & Abby, Gabby Shippers). The reason for my leaving FF and my YouTube Channel last year was because I had lost my sister. I wasn't ready for that and the day she left my interest in everything that I loved left right along with her, but I think I'm ready to ease into my usual caffeinated Gabby Shipper self once again. IMY, so this is one is for you.***

Catch & Release

Here I am again, sitting in a boat with nowhere to be from dawn to dusk.

Off the highway, around the field of wildflowers, and up the old road no dares to drive, but me.

I built that lone sad cabin by this lonely lake, so I could quietly let this heartbreak devour me.

Worms lay beneath the dirt in the rusty tin can at my feet, imprisoned like my old heart.

Unknowingly they await their death by hook or by fish, while my heart awaits a different fate.

I wait for the day my lonely heart stops beating, at least then, I will finally be over her.

I remember the first time I came here to forget. I remembered everything about her that I love.

She is the ghost that haunts me, the angel that beckons me, the heaven that is my hell, her presence weakens me, her smile breaks me, and her meaningless kiss kills me.

Oh god, here I go again.

How long have I been sitting here, not fishing?

It's either this or feeling the burn of bourbon every time I think of her and I'm still hung-over from the last time I tried to drink her away. So today, I decided to fish and suffer in the heat of the sun. For me, it's far better than being next to her and hiding my heart away.

Once I was thirty and feeling like this, then I was forty, feeling stupid that I felt that way for a decade. Now, I'm… not fishing again.

I briefly let the thoughts of her go, bait the hook, and cast my line.

Yesterday she took in a quick breath, when I kissed her cheek.

I wonder if she noticed I smiled against her skin. That's all our love is, if you can call it that.

Innocent kisses, quick breaths, and stupid smiles. That's as far we get, as much as we can handle.

This is a game we got good at playing. No winners, just sore losers.

My line tightens and I halfheartedly reel in my catch. The scar on his scales is from the last time I caught him. I take the hook from his mouth, his eyes pierce mine and I feel ashamed.
"I don't love her." I tell him, because his eyes demand an answer.

How did I become the fool, too scared to risk it all? The bad fisherman who has tried not to love her and failed. After all these years, I've got good at lying to her and to myself. Got good at letting this damn fish go too.