~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
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
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
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
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…