Her hazel eyes were a melt of autumn tones, fending off the winter frost. Freckles, light, delicate; sprinkled softly on her sun-kissed cheeks. Waves of brown hair that refract the sun's gentle light, penetrating it's smooth layers. She was a Goddess on Earth, a blooming flower amongst the leaves.
Attempts to gain unity in one group by creating divisions with another is the fools paradox and a harbinger of war.
I started pedaling, inching toward my destination and enjoying the newly cool air. It was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with crocuses and daisies in the neighbors garden, and white asters blooming all around. I didn't simply like nature, but rather I loved it. The trees and the flowers and the animals who lasted all around. Imagining all of nature destroyed would be like leaving my soul gasping for breath.
If tabloids spread fear, then they spread increased use of the primitive brain areas at the very time we most need the functions of the more highly evolved prefrontal cortex - it's tough to practice social medicine when they keep pouring out the poison.
The misery of your departure haunts me; the pain of your not coming anymore pains me. On the top of it- the viciousness of the generation; what do I do? Staying awake, looking all night; hoping to catch a glimpse of you- but there is no 'YOU.' I don't receive any news regarding you.
Many memories came, and went by; but this time, you need to come. Do not bring the intention of leaving me again; just bring yourself. When others go through what I have gone, they will feel my pain. There is no sunshine without you; no rain without you. If you wanna know what is it like to live without a heart, ask me. There will be a way that leads to me - follow it forever; listen to what it wants to say. Bring the news to me, that you are coming, my love. Please.
I could feel my heart beat… every single pound in my chest. Not through my ears, that was occupied by the steady drum, pipe, and dark voice of the Celtic music; drowning it out in the ears. But I couldn't lay there. I had to but I couldn't. This great pounding, this great pressure; every beat. I couldn't hear it, but I could feel it. It remains now, even as I write, it remained through what little of the Great Gatsby I could shove down my throat. It remained when I stood and stumbled into the other room trying to relieve myself of the small dogs who wouldn't stop nagging. That dark beating remained, alone in this house with me. Every beat a turbulent push from within pushing as a giant placed within the chest; as a great wave against a minuscule dike. This pressure urges the words, this horrible pressure. I tried sleeping through it, drums beating along with the muscle; but the music lost, ran out of time. I don't know for what reason I have to be placing these words here. I started in an attempt at relief, from the beating; some trickle of words to relieve the flood. I can feel it still, beating, pulsing, thumping. It didn't work; why won't it stop.
The Jewish man had a hint of the warm middle east about him, something that reminded me of good times and good friends.
Whatever the weather outside, my eternal weather system is always set to sunny and warm.
There comes a time when "pushing" one's ideas that could save our world becomes morally the right thing to do. And so, if you have the time, I urge you to read my book, "Nexus. A Treatise in Defence of Love as Mankind's Answer," so that we can rescue each other and our planet from the trouble of our current era. There is a link to a free version and a Kindle version from my bio (bio-link below).
Against the dark night sky all Steve could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived there and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready.
Vividly he could picture his childhood. The walls didn’t seem so grey when he was only a boy, nor did they seem so small. In his mind he pictured this place as though it were a castle where he and his brother were the Princes. His mother and father would glide through the once pristine halls, the King and Queen of their kingdom. He felt like no time had passed since he moved from this house, yet as he gazed upon the overgrown bushes and the shattered windows it was evident just how wrong he was.
Either Harry was going to calm down to meet my brain patterns, or I was going to meet his and loose control - so I breathed deeply and set myself into a state of zen empathy.
I ache when I see you smile.
I want it to be directed towards me. For me. Because of me. I want to bring you joy; be the source of those lit eyes and dimpled cheeks. I watch you bring so much happiness to those around you. Feel the warmth you’ve given me.
You show me how to find beauty in a cruel world.
You try so hard to do so well. You worked hard. You fought for every step; even if it wasn’t always in the right direction. You wanted to fly and now you’re soaring. I’m afraid. I’m so afraid you’ll crash. That I’ll have to watch it happen. I ache to think there’s no way for me to help if you do.
I still watch you.
Sometimes it becomes a source of guilt. If I have no place in your life, why do I keep following you like this? If you noticed, I’m scared what you’d think of me. I've never been heartbroken before. For that I’m sometimes glad I know you won’t.
We’ll never meet. That’s probably a good thing.
If we met, if we spoke; what would you think of me? That’s what scares me the most. Sometimes I’m left wondering if it’s better we don’t meet. Maybe it would be better if I let you fade from my life, back out of it like you were never there.
But I can’t let go.
Did you ever read the words I did, the ones a child hasn’t forgotten? ‘Kindred spirits’. They make me think of you. Is that truth or my wish? My instinct is that it’s true. But in the same thought I know we wouldn’t agree. The same thoughts or feeling but with a different approach?
I want to be there. I write late into the night because of how much I do. I want to hold your hand. To dry your tears. To take the pain and anger I know you hide. Yet here I sit typing without aim, watching through a screen. To develop an unattainable desire wasn’t wise. I knew it when I started. But we keep moving. Has it been two years already?
The ache won’t fade.