winter’s years…

~Every once in awhile I sit down and a story just come to life…this is such a moment and in the deepest part of me, I feel a longer story is in this short one…
For whom do I write

they have all gone before me.

These aching fingers have bled the truth 

of love and devastation for almost a

century.  Many pages, covered in tears &

blood were born from the war inside my

chest. And still, these remnants of my life, 

the tiny pieces of my heart, are

now stacked on the edge of my desk

with none around to glance upon my

scribbled madness.  Long gone are the

souls of loved ones. No one left to verify

the existence of me. Just these words I

form now, in my humanness, with what

surely must be my last attempt of

rebellion.  I hold this pen and a feeble 

desire of immortality as I continue

shoulder-bent over paper, 

inhaling the scent of age and

the agony of loss.  

As if any of it matters anymore. 
As if the words can live & breathe

a life beyond my hand to guide their

direction. 

I do not feel I fear my demise or how near

it is. My curtains are readied, soon to fall. 

I have lived beautifully. Have been blessed

to carry life in my womb. I’ve known of the 

tenderness of small hands touching my

cheek. I can still hear the echoes of little

feet and joyful laughter at the calling of

“Emme!” The name my grandchildren so

often sweetly uttered. 

There were many glorious days in which I 

breathed in light, but I also 

drowned in darkness, questioned my

sanity, and certainly, I’ve not lacked in

moments of impropriety nor

indiscretions. 

I am fortunate in that I have witnessed

many a beautiful sunrise and grateful

to feel the warmth of the sun’s reddest

flames saturating my aching bones. 

While I have very little regret of the

footprints I’ve left etched in the

 dusty floor of earth, my heart is heavy,

chocked full of emptiness. 

Weakness overcomes my body and my

mind as I glance out to the shore, watching

the pale light grow in strength. Hearing

the gentle lapping of ocean water.

It sings to me, like a siren. I’m entranced

and I begin to think of he and I. 

How many mornings did we greet the sun?

Witness the workings of an ordinary day?

Enjoy the stillness of starlit nights? Walk

along the sands touching the water’s

edge?  We spent many more days apart

than ever together! I cling to those

memories. The ones of our few yet 

precious moments together.

Remembering  the warmth of his

his breath against my neck as his lips

applied pressure. The sensuousness of 

his fingers as they slipped slowly between

mine. I can still feel the safety of his grip,

strong and firm but never hard in its

intention. 

I am not certain he was ever aware of his

electrity. The high voltage of his touch,

the whispering of his words against my

skin. So powerful was he, my knees

buckled under his measure.

I long for that touch. Ache in this

moment to once again feel his fire

ignite my inner most being. I want to 

catch his desire of me in his eyes and

sense his wanting in the coming 

together of our bodies, and the taste of

urgency embedded in our lips. 

It is here, in the closing hours of my life 

that I feel more in need of him than ever

before. I must have died numerous deaths

in his arms again and again, for this 

longing of him is stronger than death

Yet, in this lifetime I know I must

die alone, without his love encasing me,

without his comfort and reassurance

blanketing my frame. I sigh deeply. 

Shaken out my daydream as

the sun makes it full ascent. How many

more times will I be able to see it do so? 

Not many more I feel certain. 

I reach for my teacup. The tea has grown

cold and a kamikaze fly floats

at the top of the honeyed liquid but it’s no

matter. It was providing little warmth or

comfort as the cool ocean breeze drifts

through the window, billowing the

curtains ever so gently. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes…

The salt air is so seductive.

Many times we had let it kiss our bare

skin. Let it cool our heated mingling.

I can smell the end of summer…

The crispness in the air reminds me 

of his last departure. Soon winds will bring

wild waves and with the cold, restless

nights come to haunt. 

I was never warm or soothed in

his absence. Ive had to endure the fall

and winter years of my life without him.

yet despite the cold sting of loneliness 

there is something soft about the winter

years of one’s life. Like the quietness of

snow… It’s peaceful resounding sound

and it’s beautifully silvered covering,

thousands of diamonds glitter

in the sun.

It seems appropriate that our

years of living should correlate to the 

seasons of the year. Winter, the harbinger 

of the end; the death before rebirth. 

I sit here…

writing the final chapters of my 

story but my eyes and hands do not strain

as much as my weary heart and deep soul. 

I have been a beggar of love for so long. 

silence has been my theme song

passed over countless of times as 

my love was rejected…my broken heart

and my sadness have been my closest

companions. Being slighted and left

abandoned by everyone I’ve loved

was never a stranger either.  

Oh, I have lost myself in the hours, in the 

years of silence. So easily I crumpled

to the ground yearning for more, for

others to find me,for him to return

unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be 

I only entertain the audience of my own

 ears now.  

So many whispers have gone unheard

and I struggle for fresh air.

The latter years of my life have been a hard

pill to swallow and it is painfully obvious

that I am destined to die a quiet death.

His name will linger on my last breath,

lay gently on my pale blue lips. 

Although, I hold hope he will return to lead

me home. Such as that time many years

ago when he first laid eyes upon me. 

What a breathtaking moment!

I was lost at the edge of the woods and 

he found me…

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