A royal crown sits upon his head like a boat stuck on a stream in one place. It's like it's entangled in the roots of his hair, like it's apart of him. In the shower, at work, in front of everyone. It's going to be there for ever and ever. But who cares? I like it that way.
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.
Wars rage on, soldiers fight. We pray for the safety of our loved ones, their only photos shattered into a million tear-stained fragments. We sing melancholy songs for the nightingales who swoop through the sky carrying our whispers of encouragement up, up, up to heaven, where our lost ones frolic in a land unlike the one below, so consumed with rage, hatred, and greed. I wish we were up there, a happy family all together not a grieving family torn apart by the selfish deeds of men who seek happiness for themselves and themselves only, for we, to them, are lesser men, servants considered with cold utility rather than love.
He watched the sunset at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. Bob's spirit soared at the sight as he was transported into a timeless existence, ready for the protective blanket of night and new dreams.
The rise of competition between the various churches enhanced the blood lust for the witches with no distinction between the healers and those who did harm. They acted as a police that takes no distinction between heroes and murderers, that kills them all and then wonders why the natural world and society become so unstable. Without the practitioners of positive chaos, negative chaos will consume all. It's that simple. You need your healing witches, and witches work with words. You can trust us or let the negative chaos swallow our Earth.
We run our mom and pop school out of what was once a cafe, and so on the weekends and evenings our volunteers open it up to serve the community, raising funds for our students. We have enough in the bank now to pay for what we need plus several scholarships.
The first time my toes touched the stage there was a frisson that was too elusive to name, yet later I could say what it was. The point at which my will for adventure took over from my shy sense of vulnerability, there was a rush of electricity that jump started my soul.
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.