If you listen closely, aren’t the silences stories too?
I’ve grown mediocre with trying, and comfortable with making up for the gaps between my paragraphs. The letters unhook themselves from one another and toss me into a downward hurricane.
There is no losing here. There is nothing to lose when there is not much to gain. Kindness is valuable when there is sadness on your back, feeding on you like a demon. There is no winning here. You will not disappear.
I am being spat out by sin, and grace is calling me to have its fill.
This day resounds with fear for you, and shivers with rush for the ending. This day is the last day and all will be well soon.
A day, a day, to make up for lost weeks. Give me a day and I will emerge to try again.
He was a dark and stormy knight, of swallowed evils and survivals. He lives; I don’t think he thrives.
Sometimes a song plays and reminds you of things, of feelings you didn’t realize you’d forgotten. Lifetimes later, the music has stopped and it’s still all you think about. Other melodies have danced and other notes have sung, but your heart is stuck striking that same chord. It’s always that song. It’s always you.
I was lost once. I did things once. I needed to get by. The scars were strapped to my nerves when he found them, shared them. He said that thoughts were chained to him with cotton strings shades lighter than the human eye could perceive. She wrote of trials she barely survived. You can sleep now and not be afraid to shiver. I am stronger than your demons.
Two trains and a long walk away, I end months of waiting. I trust no one with my voice, not even myself, and I look no one in the eye. Men tell me to take care — perhaps I look like someone’s daughter — and children beg for food and coins. I cross an ocean of hollow worlds and wonder why I do what I do. I wonder if I love or if I am just selfish. I wonder; I wander.
I tried to drown my sadness by letting it live. But it has only forced me to look at myself, and that is not the best of questions. People are the biggest mysteries because they change as soon as they are solved.
“This is not me, this is not who I am.” To say the skies were overcast is oversaid, but the storms were looming in places too far away for us to tell. “I’m sorry, you have mistaken me for someone else.” In the corner of the shack, a hole in the roof dripped rain water onto a silver puddle. I remember we have heard this melody before. But, as a lullaby, it endears rather than frightens.
I am not deaf. I hear them screaming, even when they are on opposite ends and staring at their severed ties. But all your stories are overheard and undertold. You ask, where are we? We are on a dark grey cloud worlds away from comfort. I ask, is that alright?
You do not speak, you do not move. I know your spirit has withered with time.
Is it strange that I love to watch her laugh? She speaks over the counter, her name changing every time, determined to be a mystery. I wonder if she can remember who she really is. I wonder if she knows that I can never forget.
When the rain crashes out the open window, she turns to stare and get lost in the storm. Is it strange that I believe, to get lost in her sight could be the only way that I am found?
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If you have a favorite (story, style, word, or feeling), I’d love to know! :) Thank you for reading.