Flawed individuals as we are, each of us carries our own package of rights and wrongs. Two sets of characteristics are never identical, yet there is only one mistake we all have in common in this life: we often think we have all the time in the world, and I am yet to meet a person who actually does. However long our lives may be, they will never be enough. We will always long for one more moment, and we will always leave this world thinking how different things could have been if we’d had just sixty more seconds. By constantly planning the future, we neglect the present, and remain longing for what is ahead of us, rarely ever acknowledging the here and now or holding onto what we can grab with both hands, instead always reaching for something just a few inches away from our fingers. How can that even be called living, if all we ever do is think about how life would be if it were fair and the circumstances were right? By thinking of how we want to live, we’re not really doing any living at all.
We need to stop. Everything.
Just take a deep breath and count to ten. If it doesn’t work, back again.
Stop growing anxious about the next day. Stop wondering whether you’ll make it or not in this world. Stop holding back from laughing now in favor of a promised laughter that might never come. The time to make yourself smile is now, and if you let go of it, you’ll never know when, or if, another opportunity will come.
Stop letting things go to waste, and stop wasting yourself. Let us banish the word “tomorrow”, and let us not think of our series of “new todays” anymore. There are 24h in your hands right now. Stop counting them and put them to work.
Somehow, I know the late nights are not in my favour. I know I’m exhausted deep down. But when I’m trying to think logically, everything is screaming at me, and the thoughts I thought had left, were never really gone. So I ask you, does the thought of me scare you yet? Because even I am terrified of myself.
I have a cemetery for a mind,
an overgrown minefield of memory,
individual testaments to things
dormant and dead,
only fit for moonlit perusals,
not wont to remain reminders–
though I find myself remembering still.
The Picture…. a ficlet on the above pic as told by DD. Rated M
I roll over on my stomach and instinctively stretch my arm
across the opposite side of the bed. She
is not there. It has been the way I’ve
been waking up for the last few weeks. I
lay there for a few minutes longing for her warmth, her laughter, her
smile. I close my eyes and remember how
it feels to touch her: to run my hands up the inside of her thighs, stopping at
the spot where I know I can bring her the most pleasure.
Enough I think. I sit
up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and head to the kitchen. I pull out all the ingredients for my morning
kale smoothie and throw Brick a bone. As
I add the mix in the blender, I think about the last time I prepared this
morning ritual when she was here. She
had come up behind me, wrapping her arms around me and resting her head on my
back. Then she began leaving feathery
kisses across my shoulders until she ducked under my arm and continued her path
across my chest.
She had surprised me the night before, leaving her Con
commitment early so we could have one last night together before the long
separation ahead. I had arrived home
from a family gathering to find her lying naked in my bed, her blonde locks
splayed out across my pillow, looking like the true goddess she is. I worship her from afar, watching her sleep,
then waking her and worshiping her body.
The buzz of the blender jars me from my reverie. I grab my ipad and smoothie and head out to
the terrace. I sit down and open up my
twitter account to catch up on the news.
As I haphazardly scroll, I suddenly stop and my breathe catches.
On my screen I see her.
The photo is mesmerizing. She
looks like a child, lost in her innocence, yet radiating a sex appeal that
drives me to the edge. I look into her eyes and I am drawn into the blue depths
that both ground me and drown me in my emotions for her. Emotions that have held me captive for so many
years. During both good times and bad,
whether we were together or apart.
She is holding her hands up to her mouth. I imagine taking them from her, placing
kisses on each finger, then drawing her whole hand to my lips. I would then lift her arms up and raise the
sweater over her head, dropping it to the ground. She looks vulnerable; fragile. I run my hands slowly down the underside of her arms, then tracing the curves of her torso
until they rest on her hips. I pull her
closer and my mouth hungrily takes her in, the passion taking control of us.
I leave my thoughts and again focus on her eyes. I ache for her, the need growing ever more
demanding. I close twitter and open my
messages. I type in the following:
“ Your beauty takes my breath away”
“ I miss you”
I close my eyes and sip on my smoothie. Less than a minute later, I receive the
“I love you.. always..forever”
“ I need you. I want you. Can you come to me?”
And I get up and walk
back into the house while I dial the airline.
This is my first attempt at any sort of creative writing. Please be kind. I’m tagging a few authors I respect and love in hopes for some feedback~ Thanks