Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
Bottle in the Sea
To Whomever Receives This Bottle:
I never expected that I'd be lost and forgotten to the world. I suppose I write this hoping that perhaps you will remember this note sometime after you finish reading it, and in that way my memory lives on. Somehow that's enough. Now listen closely, if you've found this bottle it means that even though it has been tossed to and fro by the waves, perhaps pulled by the undertow and cracked against the rocky reef, it still found you. With that being said, life may break you, but know you are too strong to shatter. Your journey is your own. Do not be afraid if it's perilous. Take heart. Face your worries for they will be too afraid to face you. Ride the currents, do not let them control you. Listen to your heart for it is more than just a beat. The one you seek will find you when you least expect it, and they will give back what your journey has taken away. Your boat, your guide: you chart your course, not anyone else. Take responsibility for your faults, but do not apologize for them: they are what make you human. Dwell not on your mistakes, because your mistakes will sail you on the greatest adventures.
The rain had always been something enchanting to me. Not the romantic, heart and flowers type, but in a different way. It felt as if the Big Guy above all of us were crying. Were despairing at the foolish sins and actions we mortals committed. Either way, it struck me as a wonder of the nature. The rain would bring in it's cold weather, inside which I would feel warm. The aftermath of a shower would be this sweet, earthy smell. It bewitched me. The beads of water upon flower petals were quietly dramatic. Perhaps, a moment for a photo shoot. The sun would shine down after the rain, but there would be nothing hot or sticky about it. The atmosphere would be pleasantly damp, and it would give me the spirit of a dreamy poetess.
In my dream I went to bed and awoke to find angry people standing around me, accusing me of being in the wrong place. No matter what I said they got worse and started to call me names, accusing me in an apparently random fashion. I left, yet as I passed the doorway into the corridor a woman followed me and punched me hard in the rib cage. Later a friend came, an associate of the angry people, and placed a black bandage around my arm. On my right side my skin was split open from sole to jugular - and upon the site of the punch was a septic wound. Then the friend left. I awoke from the dream, opening my eyes into the soft light of a new day. The dream was of my past, of the friends that piled hurt on hurt, who landed punches and split me open when I needed a safe place to sleep and rest - to find sanctuary. Yet the brain will only show us these things when we are ready to see them, and so I know I have healed completely. I am ready for whatever is next. I'm moving on.
Upon the shore that glistened beneath a sea-blue kiss of brine, were the rocks of the ages in a multitude of hues, from creams to deep browns and greys. And all of them, each and every one, took on a greater beauty when the sun shone, giving so freely of brilliant rays.
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.
Jazz held the flower in her fingertips so that it did not touch her scuffed palms. How was it that in all this chaos this delicate bloom should survive? It's stem was the hue of spring grass and it's brilliant purple petals so thin that even the air, made dim by the plumes of debris and smoke, could shine through them; bestowing an unearthly glow. The smile that had played at the corners of her cracked lips faded. This flower, while reaching for the sun was a living corpse, it was alive and dead. Without it's roots it's vibrancy would fade sooner than the daylight. It had been three days since she's seen another person she recognized, she was rootless, like the bloom, cut off from support and supplies. She had to act now, make the right decisions or risk perishing before the moon had time to wax and wane just one more cycle. Her first trip would be to the supermarket for water or food. She had no money but somehow she didn't think that would matter.
I originated from a cruel place. Was raised among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality. And finally, I learnt callousness. I became stone-hearted. But when my little bundle of joy arrived, a thing me and my wife made, when she came- my daughter; everything changed. She reminded me of love and bond. I couldn't let her into the world of viciousness. She was soft, and breakable, like the snow. She was was gentle, and she was my world. I knew, that if she ventured into my dark world, she would hate her own existence. I desired my daughter to have a life of positivity and satisfaction of living authentically on purpose. She was the melody of my beating heart. She gave me hope for the future. She was my life, my world- I decided, she would live a good life.