Dream, Love.

**This was written over a year ago, and accepted to be published.  It never published, and there is no sign that it will ever be published.  So I finally decided it was time to put it on my blog.The theme was “Write a piece inspired by a song”.

The song I wrote this to was “Alive” by Jose Gonzalez.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick.

The sound of your heart echoes the rhythm of the clock.

Comforted by the rise and fall of your chest in steady breaths, I know I’m safe.

You work so hard, with very little return. It’s apparent in the way you sigh tonight.

You hesitate. You forget to breathe.

Gently squeezing your hand, I nestle closer. Beside of you, I know it’s going to be okay.

Do you know how much I love you?

Does my love help?

Does it ease your weary mind?

It isn’t fair the way life jades us. Breaking our spirit so we give up chasing fantasies and childhood dreams.

What once brought joy, brings tears.

What once caused your heart to flutter, now leaves your heart broken.

Darkness settled, and it swept away your smile.  It took your soul with it, leaving your voice hollow.

I remember what your laugh used to sound like.

I remember the glint of passion in your eyes.

I miss the warmth of your smile.

My fingers brush gently through your hair as your eyes move under tired lids.

It comforts me to know you’re dreaming. Whatever are you dreaming of?

Am I still in your dreams?

Rushing from one thing to the next leaves you tired and aching, longing just to sit and clear your head.

The stress of the day stops melting away, instead it festers and gnaws at you, dragging you down a lonesome, tired road of anguish.

It shouldn’t be this way. Seeing it manifest causes my heart to break.

What can I do? What does your heart need that I can give?

Can I alleviate the burden long enough to give you rest?

Do you remember how to rest? To give in to the refreshing tides of sleep.

When it seems the money is always needed, or the stack of bills won’t shrink any smaller, and nothing is going your way, reach out and take my hand. It’s not moving from where I left it.

It was promised to you. And you keep it.

I’ll be here when you come home. Rubbing knots from your neck and shoulders, soothing the tenderness with a gentle kiss.

My arms might be frail, but they’re strong enough to hold you when you can’t hold yourself.

Let me carry your burdens. Give me your broken dreams, let me help grow something new. When you lose sight of tomorrow, let me hope for you.

I need you. I need your warmth. I need your life. I need your smile.

Night only lasts for a moment, and then the sun peaks the horizon again. Gradually, as though giving hope to the world, with a dimly lit break of dawn.

It just takes time. To everything, there is a season. This too shall pass.

Remember this when it seems to never end.

When the world caves in and all you hear is seconds ticking away, remember my hope is drawn from the rhythm of your beating heart.

 

Advertisements

Writing Exercise – Temptation

Greg found his cousin amusing. Karissa had shown up early in the day to visit their grandmother. Greg was currently living in their grandmothers basement biding his time through life, however, currently trying to clean it up. Well, as much as he could while working in an adult superstore.
Karissa’s quirky attitude, and cynical sense of humor was interesting. She definitely had become different than the girl he remembered. Although, he didn’t know how he felt about her current choice of fashion. Was she supposed to be some kind of hippie?
The way she dressed aside, her presence tonight screwed with his head. The first thing he had noticed was how her figure had blossomed since she had finally grown up. There was nothing left of that awkward kid he once knew. Having a baby had gently spread her hips and nicely bulged her breasts.
He shook his head, attempting to rub the sudden image of her from his eyes.
They’d all gone to bed hours ago. After watching a movie, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Currently, his caffeine addiction had him drinking energy drinks like water. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had sex in ages, and here was the perfect opportunity to indulge and relieve his aching body. Or was it so perfect?
There were too many variables. First, their grandmother was sleeping in the next room from her. Second, her infant son was probably snuggled up in her arms sleeping next to her.
If he was going to do anything, it was roll over and go to sleep.
You could always just rape her.
“Where the hell did that come from?” He asked himself, his eyes popping open.
Think about it. You know she wouldn’t consent, that’s crazy.
She was sleeping right above his room, tucked into a large, beautiful bed. Probably sleeping softly and sweetly. A gentle inhale. A gentle exhale. A gentle inhale. A gentle-
“STOP IT!” he internally screamed to his brain.
Sitting up in bed, throwing his legs over the side, he felt that familiar, aching urge for a cigarette. Giving up every negative stimulant in his life was hard enough, and his body did starve desperately for a woman. Choosing between the two in this instance, the cigarette sounded better.
“God, cleanse these disgusting thoughts.” He prayed. “I want to give this habit up.”
You’re disgusting. Look at you, what would God want with you anyway? You make money selling people porn, and indulgences in sick fantasies. You give people the opportunity to cheat on their spouses. You give people the opportunity to hurt and bruise and bleed. You give them the chance to pursue their darkest dreams. You can’t even quit smoking long enough for God to save you.
Greg accepted those thoughts, gnawing his teeth. “I just need a cigarette. That’s it. Just one.”
Giving up smoking was the hardest thing he had ever struggled with. Sure, porn and sexuality were battles every man fought, right? Smoking, however, was a crutch. Soothing. Relaxing. Suffocating. Sex you could have once and relieve the body for a moment. Cigarettes gave, and gave, and gave.
Just go up the stairs.
“No.”
Go.
“Stop it.”
You. Need. This. She won’t press charges. You’re family. She won’t tell anyone, nobody would believe her anyway.
Balling his fists, Greg got up to pace around the room. His own dark fantasies swirled through his mind like poison. It made him feel dirty, thinking about Karissa that way. She was his kid cousin, he remembered holding her as a baby. And here she was, married with a little one of her own.
It wasn’t the sex he wanted so much right now, as it was the cigarette he was trying to be free from. “Just one. I just want one.”
The hours crept down out of the night, and Greg won the battle against raping Karissa.
The next two days he avoided her like the plague. The fact that his mind had so thoroughly explored her made it awkward for him to be around her. He didn’t even want to see her after that. At least, not for some time.
Memories of that night plagued him for the next several days, and the urge for a cigarette never went away.
On Friday, once his paycheck hit, he stopped at the first convenient store and swiped his card without a second thought.
In the protection of his little car, with nobody around to hear his thoughts, he opened up the box, put the roll between his lips, shakily lit the end of it, and lost all of the ground he tried so desperately to cover in the next inhale of pure, sweet, nicotine.

Creative Energy

I have so much creative energy swirling in my head, and not the slightest idea how to let it out.  I pick up my sketch book, and it doesn’t help.
I open up a WIP document, and that’s not where it wants to flow either.

I open up my blog, and spend the next twenty minutes organizing blog posts so my flash fiction, Faet & Fantasy reads in order.  The first two episodes weren’t in the line up so I had to go fishing for them.  Now, they are ALL only categorized under ONE category.

After that, I had to take my son to martial arts, but my mind is a bursting flood of energy refusing to calm.

Perhaps it has to do with recent ignition, though I don’t know where the inspiration came from, however it has not stopped.  Meanwhile, I have little to show for it, though I direly wish to ride the wave where it will carry me!

Especially if it means I finish my first write so I can start editing it….  Though, this is a way off to finish, if I keep the energy up, perhaps the book can be done by the end of this year?

Many people are waiting on me to finish something, I don’t particularly know why I haven’t.  Maybe this Christmas I’ll sneak a peak into Eldegras for everyone with my Yule story finished.  Publish to Wattpad, get a few more short stories out there as teasers, and viola, the series comes along?

It sounds like a good idea in theory.  The execution is where I have trouble….

Today I miss having a piano.  I miss writing songs and poems.  Why have I stopped?  What possessed me to close up and hide within myself?

It surely hasn’t been a good thing, and only left me feeling directionless and without purpose…..

Here’s to purpose and raising more blog posts and stories again.  Once a writer, always a writer.  And I have most definitely always been a writer.

Farlaquin

Haunted by his memories, and the alluring draw of AFI, I pull out an old book I wrote.

I open the pages immediately engulfed in the evanescent driftings of memories long forgotten….

It needs a hefty edit and dusting off, but the story is certainly worth saving.

In the revamp of my High Fantasy series, this character was going to be cut.

However, his tragic romance and undying love for a main character may yet see light of day.

As I painfully read this old story, written in a past I often wish to forget, his presence haunts me like a ghost.

Piercing dark emerald eyes, flowing nutmeg brown hair, and a smooth comforting voice overwhelm me.

I tune into another AFI song to keep him alive in my mind, wondering whatever happened to the affair my soul had with this character.

When I wanted to escape reality and pour my soul out, Farlaquin was there.

When I longed to dance in a world I couldn’t possibly physically touch, I drowned in my imagination and spent endless hours in a place once called Elverqueist.

Tonight, seduced by the memories and need to clench my thirsty soul, I look back and see him again….

And for the first time, I miss him.

He reaches a hand to me, his eyes gentle. His whisper sends tingles through my mind, as again I am seduced by worlds so far away….. that I desperately wish to reach.

His brow dropping to mine, calling me, a new scene introducing him in the new book rewrite comes to mind.

And for the first time, I am sure that his story needs told.

Every Day

Every day I come to my wordpress blog, and every day I fail to write.

It’s not that I don’t have words!  I have so many words.
Perhaps it’s that I lost the art of using them?

Writers keep writing what they write, a song about the dark says so.

Why do I stop?  Why have I been incapable of producing the words I so eagerly long to share?

I wish I understood them.

I wish I could make them flow in the ways they used to.

Somewhere along the way, I locked them up where no one could see.  Instead of validation I found emptiness in a greedy world where everyone wants to be heard.

So I silenced my voice.

And then I found those who would oppose me, and force their concepts down my throat without hearing what I would have to say, and I stopped speaking.

The Value we take from one another when we deem ourselves as more important!

The Value we take from one another when we choose to not listen to their heart, and take it for the treasure that it is.

Instead we fume, we rage!  We foam at the mouth, because our school of thought cannot comprehend that of the other.

One of us is free, and gives ourselves away whole-heartedly, and the other is limited by a box that they do not understand controls them, and instead of being honest and true they snuff out the light.

Why do we destroy each other?

Why must the light one sheds be darkened by another?

If someone is shining brightly for all the word to see, is this not enough for Humanity?
Correct them in love.  Not judgement.

Correct them in hope.  Not rage.

Sacrifice your own abysmal failure to love with reckless abandon, instead of screaming at them with your actions to change for the sake of your intolerance.

There is a Truth.  And this Truth is solid and just.  Don’t silence the voices who share the truth because it doesn’t agree with your school of thought.

Watch them, brave and bold, and know they are sharing from the depths of their hearts and soul, to connect all of humanity with a greater good.

 

…..Every day I wait, longingly for the words to return.  They trickle slowly in.
But why do I abandon them?

A Letter to God

Dear God, it’s me.

I don’t know if you remember who I am. But I remember you.

I’ve kind of fallen back, and as I’ve fallen, found my faith gone slack.

I’m trying to find who I am, out of who I used to be.

Times have changed. I’m divorced, but I’m still a parent, and I’m about to be a bride again.

I’m afraid of your grace, and your judgement. Trying to find your plan in all of this– it isn’t easy to set aside all that I’ve been taught, and trust you.

I want to trust you, but every time I do, something seems to go wrong. Do I do it?

I’ve not been looking for you, while I’m finding myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with my failing heart, losing hold of everything I love.

Motivation, desire…. I fade slowly into nothing. The corner of the room is right where I fit best, self-inflicted woes to bear my scars out loud.

This is not who I was, and it’s not who I want to be– help change me to who I am meant to be. Because all I know is I want more than this hollowed shell I’m existing in.

Consume me. Make me yours.

One In A Billion

Look at us.

We’re all trying to stand out and be noticed.

You, with your talents.  Me with mine.

Each of us on a journey to be heard.  Listened to.  To burn brightly after igniting a spark of interest.

We’re all striking the same matches:
I HAVE WORDS I NEED TO SHARE!

Waiting to be validated by a consuming public, who cannot quench their thirst against the raging flames of entertainment.

So we pound away at the keys, telling the stories our vivid imaginations create for us, and we write the articles our fierce opinions derive, and we share the inspiration our souls have encountered.

And then we wait to be noticed by the general public.

Days.  Weeks.  Months.  Years.

Others who have gone before us and somehow managed to be a hit, surely we can too?

Slowly, our motivation turns to ash.  The embers of longing to share, die.

We wonder why we put so much heart and soul into our work, for it to fall by the wayside.

So few acknowledge our existence, even after the hours we put into our work.  We wonder how people go viral, and what on earth they’re doing different than us.
Do they have different friends?
Do they have different connections?
Do they have different methods for gaining access to the millions of people we wish were our audience, too?

…..The answer is, we’re not all pursuing the same audience.

While each of us wish to be accepted for who we are, and what we bring to the literary world, we’re still different.

We have different pursuits.

We have different goals.

We have different messages we want to send.

We tell different stories.
Somewhere along the way, writers begin to join in a uniformity, the answer must be in writing the same way?
“You must write this way/you must write that way.”
“I don’t like to do this, you probably shouldn’t either.”
“Nobody writes like that anymore.”
“I wouldn’t read it, but I guess someone else might….”

Validating ourselves against others, instead of remaining true to ourselves.

The odds feel stacked against us when our words only reach a few people sprinkled throughout the world.

Don’t stop trying, despite the odds.

Yes.  You are one in a billion.

You don’t need a million followers, you simply need to be true to yourself.

Tell your story.  And then believe your story is worth being read, and pursue the audience you long for.