Tears rolled down, wetting every part of her cheek. Her eyes pleaded for Succor and help, albeit that she knew no one was coming. There was only darkness as her own demons haunted and strangled her. She was suffocating. In the pain of abandonment she almost forgot how to feel. She desired amnesia so that all this suffering could fade away, fade and allow memories of laughter to soothe her, to restore peace in her life.
I bite my tongue, trying to hold the tears that threatened to leave my eyes. And that's when I can't hold them back. First, one small crystal bead escapes from my right eye. I can feel the warmth, sliding down my cheek, and rolling off my chin. Then another. And another. Until my eyes flood with them, coming like a rainfall. Sniffing every ten seconds, they fall, and fall, and I let them.
It was a perfect and permanent flood, the waters that deepened the hue of the tree barks. That was the bayou, as if land and water came to the most glorious of compromises and made something so spectacularly different from every other place around.
Your easy smiles and gentle teasings strung my heart and blinded my eyes. I overlooked your veering lies and shady actions and glanced the other way when you enjoyed the company of other women more than mine, convincing myself that it was merely the green eyed monster rearing its ugly head. But when you strayed, I knew for sure that you took me for a mindless fool. You made a mockery of my love and blamed me for your straying.
You abused my innocent love and cut off the happy strings of my heart.
You aren't worth my time or even a fleeting thought; you are a bad story and I choose to only read good ones.
Yeah, honey, you can be my undercover agent - so long as you're a gent under the covers. There's so much more fun to be had that way.
The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive.
The industrial revolution broke the ordinary British in body and spirit, working even children fourteen or sixteen hours per day. They were underfed, developed spinal injuries and deaths in the workplace was common. It was greed with indifference to others at its very inception and thus was born the industrialised world - greed barely restrained by laws that breaks the workers in body, soul and psychology daily, bringing early death, depression and a reduced capacity to enjoy living or be a proper parent. Social evolution that pays attention to who we are as a species, how we can heal, love and cooperate can build us a new system and let us do away with this outdated Victorian "combustion engine" of a system in which we are the fuel. Perhaps then we can stop the pollution, empty the prisons and find good health.
I can survive anything if I feel loved, even these pains that come to explode within, these silent hand grenades. With kindness I can make it, with compassion there is grace. And when you smile at me you are my heroine, my morphine, finer than any doctor can prescribe.
I would dedicate my every song to you, think about you even when I would be dreaming. I wanted you all to myself. This was neither love nor obsession; it was the fear of losing you, losing you forever. This fear of mine is what brought us together and now I am afraid that this fear is also going to the one to make us fall apart from each other. Just the thoughts of being away from makes me quiver; I hope you never leave me alone because then this fear will turn into hatred and abhorrence.
Those brown eyes are a million hues, so I wonder what the word "brown" even means. They are the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer and after the rains. How could we ever reduce something so spellbinding to one word, when the colours invite us to marvel in their simplicity.
"Post-Brexit Britain was sold off chunk by chunk to the highest international bidders; it was the sale of the century."
At first glance, Tate seemed like the kind of guy you hired to kill your husband: leather jacket, dusty tank top, bandanna, multiple gory tattoos, a stupid vintage pickup he drove, smoked in and blasted heavy metal from. If a stranger ever spoke to him, his dry wit supported their prejudices. But that’s not the man that I knew.
I knew the Tate who sent you smiles so bright you could see them from across the Pacific Ocean and whose thoughtfulness warmed your heart. I knew the Tate who broke out his guitar at 8am to have what he called a “living room concert”. I was best friends with the man whose sky blue eyes sparkled like those of a child in a candy store and whose laugh was so contagious you often found yourself breathless in his presence.
Tate was the kind of guy who would drag you out of the house in the middle of the night to get a greasy snack, who spent hours sketching the same thing until he got it right and, most of all, he was the kind of friend who never failed to distract you from your everyday worries.