On the nights when he was with her; when she would stay awake waiting for the inevitable. Just waiting for his terrified eyes to meet hers, waiting for him to mutter about guns and friends departed. She would trace the faint white lines lining his back - new stories that she would never gather the courage to ask of. He always looked so confident in his uniform, but when the clothes come off she would see the damage that lay in their wake.
Give me the rain in those flashing sheets of cold droplets and I'll show you how the world breathes into those ready to live. Show me how the rain traces sweet paths on your skin and I'll give you a way to feel more alive than any manmade high ever could. So as the clouds gather I feel my soul stir, the air electrified as it anticipates the quenching storm.
We are in a war where you offensive and wounding words storm through me, piercing my body like being struck with a sword a thousand times. Your every deed and action feels like an attempt of ambush to end me forever. My tears and my cries are my shield against your savagery and barbarity but still I know that around you I am defenceless and always will be defenceless. You have already attained victory in this one sided war but still your hunger and thirst for blood and torture is insatiable. And that's why this is goodbye forever. I deserve someone warm and affectionate, one who uses words kindly.
My mother stayed home to care for us, and we had the greatest childhood imaginable. What irks me though is when people say she didn't "work." And that's not just because she worked hard every day caring for us, it's that the words themselves suggest she was in some way broken or defective. Perhaps an old radio doesn't work, or some electronic gadget that got all wet... but my mom, she worked better than most folks. By making all those loving choices every day, by showing self control when your average office worker would lose their cool, she built a truly better brain. My mom is smart, funny, loving, self controlled and responsible. Frankly, for those who can't do all that, irrespective of your employment status, can you say that you really work?
Fire and You.
Fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. It shines with all its glory; maybe that's why I'm so attracted to it? The warmth along with the welcoming feel it gives but as you slowly approach it snarls and bites. Everything you love could be gone in minutes, due to a single nip. That's why you're like fire. So warm, so beautiful, so welcoming. The human embodiment of fire. I turned my gaze for a minute and everything I loved was gone. All I loved. You.
Hold every bad memory in your left hand; every good memory in your right. Now hold every one of them in your brain at the same time, an awareness without words. Then realise how much we invent at the interface between the world of dreams and memory, how great we are at creating our own fictions to enable us to handle our emotions and navigate our world. In each hand the memories have been transformed into a fine and fertile earth, it rains to your feet, the richness from which all your future grows. You are your own best healer my love, it is right there in your brain, the power to transform yourself.
Not quite the hot dark of embers, but a soft, hopeful dark. The dark that comes just before the sunrise, a kind of dark that helps the orange and gold blossom across the sky, like a small flower trembling open in spring. The dark that encourages you to fall asleep as you close your eyes, tossing and turning in a futile attempt to slip away into the depths of unconsciousness, blissfully unaware. The type of dark that occurs in a complete solar eclipse, blocking out the light, the noise, the feeling of being, leaving you in the silence of serenity, if only for a few seconds.
Avery whispers into the breeze, her eyelids fluttering closed as she breathes in the briny aroma. Scrunching her toes, she feels the softness of the sand, still damp from the retreating tide. She wiggles as a shiver cascades down her spine and her eyes burst open.The sand blurs out in a blissful trance, the shore fading into liquid gold, vivid in the brilliant light. Her pale lips curve upward.
Avery bestows her gaze to the far off horizon, the flaring hues of the sun melting into the sky and ocean like a divine painting. The forever stretching sea is masked with an apricot colour, that beautiful umber flowing into turquoise. Through narrowed eyes she watches as each wave overlaps one another, sending the white bubbling crests descending, masking the shore with the transparent fading water.
At first glance the diver only saw pink coral. She took out a camera and began to take photos for the magazine. After she had enough shots she drew closer to feel it. Something moved. Frozen in place she observed for a few minutes, then like one of those fancy trick 3D pictures she began to see something else. There was a pygmy seahorse with it's tail wrapped around the coral, its camouflage was so much like it's surroundings that just melted from view the second she stopped focusing on where it was. Its body was a soft pink was the exact shade of the main stems but it had darker pink lumps on it just like its home.