The forest hums with life all around me. I twirl about, gazing up at the canopy, searching for the birds that sing sweetly. The sun breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of me, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath my bare feet. I trudge on, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breathe is like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into my lungs.
Waking up can be really harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually even the memory of your dream will fade - if you are even lucky enough to remember it that is. Then you're left with this lonely feeling of detachment, left to explore in the empty void of emotions, the only proof that you ever had the dream to begin with.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow, her future within its walls seeming a little less bleak.
The light of compassion shines the brightest in the darkness, showing the courage to hold on until daylight comes; and this is what our stars of love and emotional warmth achieve.
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.
She was my angel. Because I fell for her demons first. Vowed to kill and bleed for her. I was the devil of the story. But her presence gave me a reason to want to go to heaven. How she could affect souls! It was awe-inspiring. Worth seeing. She was the one, who loved me eternally, irrevocably, and unconditionally. She had me in her thrall. She completed me. Washed away the blood of brutality off me.
Her voice was more soothing than a thousand kisses. Her touch was softer than feather. She was the proof that one could walk through hell, and still be an angel. She knew me inside and out, and still loved me for what I was. She was my guardian angel.
There is something about a finishing line; I could never imagine stopping before it arrived in view, then I could never imagine not stopping once it was passed.
I saw the beach grass as nature's magic wands, growing where logic might suggest they ought not, yet thriving all the same.
The fashion designer had one of those perfect souls, both fully childish and fully adult all at the same time. You could see it in the way her eyes moved, how her hands embraced the fabric, and I believe you could sense how the fabric of the universe embraced her in response.
An Ode to America
Why is it dear America,
That you are so strong of faith,
That you sing so greatly of love,
Yet permit the racism wraith,
To rob your children of security,
To bring the destruction of a war,
To escalate hell's fires,
To open negative chaos's door?
Because I wonder dear America,
If you were brought to such great faith,
As the only antidote that could ever conquer,
This callous apocalyptic wraith.
Perhaps the first step out of social distancing is to allow our youth to meet up with one or two friends, to have a "buddy system" to ease their loneliness - and to allow for young love to boost mental health.
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.