Today my heart is crying
For something once received
And every second
Which passes at the tick
The distance between us
Swallowing our voices
Grinding our memories
To powdered dreams
I walked my dog here from the time the rain smelled of flowers through heated summer pains. We grew old here, grey hairs cropping up like pine needles. Soon we were covered with avalanches of them, prickly and sticky like aches and pains. Needles gave way to winters and snows heavy with human sorrow.
I had my first kiss here when birds were still quiet against the rising sun. He rested his hand on my cheek. He told me it would be alright. We planned a wedding through the morning dew and afternoon rays. But when the evening breeze came it left no remains. In the dark they strangled what we thought we had. By midnight it was just me and the needles, alone again.
I find myself in this place, over and over, shuffling dying fire starter from one memory to another. There’s smoke in the distance; the smell of burning dreams. I wonder what’s the cost to catch it all aflame and dissolve into the night, a waft of regret on the scent of what remains.
Word Count: 178
For Sunday Photo Fiction – This might as well have been partially written by Dirty Three (seriously, I’ve been on a binge)
We live, we learn, we grow.
It’s amazing the evolution when color photos just taken drain and redden
And clouds just forming begin storming.
Haze permanently obscures the laughing moon
Blocking our memories of cloudless bug lit nights.
Shadows shift in undertones, subtly coloring the world in deepening blues.
I reached after you but you were too far gone.
Strides across the parking lot now shortened
And dagger edged words now blunted.
I stand on the shore of what could have been
Straining to pick the memories from those which tendrils of mist stole away.
We live, we learn, we grow.
We realize we’re wrong
But names appear on stones and fresh dirt churns easy,
When time has no regard for little human lives.
There’s something to be said for being an empath in an abandoned city.
It seems everywhere I step is full of energy, an oddity considering no one’s lived here for decades. The air still hangs thick, even on the cool days, it’s electrified. A man once asked me exactly what I saw in this old city.
You see, it’s not the fear. It’s not the energy expelled in those last few precious moments that binds me here. I think there’s something else, something more that leaked beneath the surface that day.
It’s the memories. It’s everything that ever was and everything that never could be. It’s every smell and slight wind blown treasure which was lost that day.
The energy from those moments, those dreams, those regrets ooze from the blades of grass and dying leaves. They hang in the air, waiting to stir.
That’s the energy binding me here.
Word Count: 150
I did not take this picture from google earth per the rules. It’s from this article.
I may be a little odd. I would kill to visit this location (not literally kill, despite what I write I wouldn’t do that). The pictures coming out of Pripyat have been amazing, the aura that leaks through them is palpable. I’d be terrified the entire time I was there but I would go in a heartbeat.
Repost from Feb of this year (Feb 2018).
I haven’t been writing/interacting as much as usual lately because I’m extremely drained from stress, illness … just life in general.
Ink Me Down
Sink me into paper
Until ink bleeds
Over your cold fingers.
Ink me down;
Down into the ground.
Grind memories into nothing
With razor blade stones.
Release me with every breath.
Let every sound have a bite.
Scream the words
Over glazed eyes and tear stained faces.
Ink me down.
Your best tragedy,
Your personal comedy.
I am lost
Of your touch,
Of your lips
From my fingers
Crashing to the floor
On the night
You didn’t make it back.
For our wedding,
We never made it down.
You and I
There’s a plan.
Would we still
In one another’s eyes.
I can’t assume this isn’t what falling into insanity feels like.
Memories amiss, blanket gaps in my revolving life show.
Yet something exists, just beyond the wall I’ve come to know.
Gentle waters stirred by an ever wandering, probing heart.
Diluting, circling, among the truths we can’t start.
Today’s random word was arise
Click here to generate your own word or feel free to use this one.
The softly yellowing light from the hall tosses shadows against the wall. It catches the stubble lining your jaw, ever so quickly it flashes in your eyes and reflects from the waves in your hair.
I’m frozen, blanket pulled around my waist and pillow hugged tight in place of where you should be. You stand shyly while your eyes seem to gloss over me. We’re here, only feet away, but there’s a thin veil of reality guarding the way.
You move steadily through my room though your eyes see straight through me. Your smile, perhaps not meant for me, sends waves of anticipation, pure pleasure, cascading down my arms.
I reach for your hands, the seemingly knowing comfort of your arms, my fingers gently stirring the thin mists guarding us from real and fiction. Each ripple in the foggy veil, more violent than the last, sends shocks through time; beginning to distort this moving picture at my bedside. Your eyes of adoration transform to looks of condemnation.
Missiles from a past long forgotten explode at my feet, stirring runaway memories. Noxious fumes and pretty perfumes take hold, guiding my stumbling trip along nightmare lane. Your visage, dark, brooding and all at once silly and loving, is no stranger behind the veil.
Without warning the undulating mist falls away. All at once I find I remember everything.
Fat raindrops rolled down the window pane accompanied by the ever present haze of city living. Ghosts of years gone by stood silently silhouetted against a dark, starless sky.
Lights from the spire sprinkled to life in a dazzling glaze. A gasp caught in her throat. The sign she had been waiting for.
Her Prince Charming casting a wide arching call for her to come.
She shoved the suitcase closed around three stuffed animals and a bag of Cheetos.
Fading photos, her momentos of a life forgotten, would have to stay behind.
The nurses quietly blocked her door.
PHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff
A special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for wrangling in Friday Fictioneers.
I did a few of these then stopped for several weeks due to my work load (at my actual job and my grad school work). Luckily I’ve found myself with a slight bit of breathing room … or the possibility of killing men just watch them die if I didn’t get a chance to space out soon … So here I am.
Music – The Echelon Effect on Spotify shuffle (I do this a lot you see)
We blow bubbles into the golden sunset,
Memories trapped in worlds we struggle to relive,
Reflecting rainbows, shimmering golds
We whisper our secrets into bubbles
And send them off to shrouds of secrecy
Beyond prying eyes and probing fingers
With promises of happily ever after
If we ever make it down from there.
We were but kids, young and in false belief
There will always be more to dream
Bubbles float beyond our clouds, grey skies from there on out
We always knew they would pop
Our precious memories would come tumbling down
Held in such high regard, we would learn to see
Truths about what we’ve done
As our pristine bubble memories rain down sharp fears
We were but kids, in the golden light, wondering what we’ve done