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Nocturnal

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...like midnight breeze blowing through sheer curtains, a symphony of melancholia...

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caresses tiny black heart on my wrist, pulsating underneath my cold pale skin..

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vaporous nostalgia falls with cadence, yield a drop of time-worn emotion, melts aimlessly into thickened grey retrospection... eyes wide shut, murmuring a lost prayer in flowing whiskey till multicellular effect slowly shifting...

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feverishly tracking the last remnants of our dreams amongst twinkling constellations in valourous night sky and I find myself swaying on the windowsill, whistling sirens down the breeze...

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Nocturne

...so I can sway at the tip of your lazy pen when you sit quietly, gazing out over the shore of Georgia Strait and a sunbeam slants through your dusty window as the wind whispers in your ears and your reflective soul starts pouring out...

dumping ink and tears all over blank white papers

..telling story of yesterdays..

..our words remain..

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...an ode to those seemingly endless nights across the Pacific ocean...

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https://youtu.be/-CMG9OFKtHo

I love all the very unique and talented writers on Prose but if I had to pick only one, it would be @Mel. I feel such a strength emanating from her and yet a sadness which she keeps buried. Her words are melancholy slices of life which take me down lonely streets and introduce me to misfits and people who just don’t fit in any niche.

The way she writes makes me feel that I am there, experiencing her deep thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, I want to cry for the lost souls and sometimes I just want to cocoon Mel in a place of safety and tell her everything is all right. The rawness and honesty of her writes captures me in their grip. But make no mistake, she takes past misfortunes and transfixes them into new beginnings in which she goes to school, takes care of a younger brother and works very hard as well. She has developed such character in facing her past, molding herself into an inspiring, young writer. Her kindness and decency in dealing with others shines through, although she keeps a stiff upper lip in the face of hardship. 

She is both a liver of life and a conqueror of all she has seen. How do I know all this? All I need to do is read her latest story to understand her and want to see her succeed. And all of this, she puts on paper, capturing my heart and the heart of others. Well done, my lovely friend.

As for picking my favorite piece of hers, I love them all and so do other Prosers. Perhaps the last write that she submitted to the literary agency would be a good choice. I hope they recognize her talent. https://theprose.com/post/141560

Cold rain lashed against my bare skin, as I walked slowly down the street. I'd lost all sense of direction and had no idea where I was going. These nights were the hardest. The ones where uncertainty was rife, and the elements did nothing but work against me. Not that I minded the rain, but my hands were cold to the point where I couldn't feel my fingers. I wanted nothing more than to be curled up in front of a roaring fire, the heat seeping into my shivering body. But instead I'd be walking for god only knows how long. Maybe a few hours, or maybe a few days. I could only hope that the awful weather would subside. At least for a short while. Glancing up, I looked at the rolling countryside that spanned around me. There wasn't a single house in sight, nor any sign of somewhere I could take refuge. I was well and truly alone.

At least that was what I thought. Out of no-where, a car roared past next to me. Speeding right through the giant puddle that had accumulated because of the rain. The standing water sprayed all over me.

"You fucking asshole!" I screamed after them, not caring where they heard me or not. I needed to vent my frustrations and right now, screaming seemed to be the only way to do that. If I hadn't been drenched from head to toe before, I definitely was now. But now it wasn't just clean rain water I was wet with, it was horrible, dirty water. Hugging myself tightly, I slowly plodded on. Trying to keep a bit more distance between myself and the road in case some other jerk came speeding through. With no road signs anywhere in sight, I had no idea how long I'd been walking, nor how long I had left to go. The awful cold made me want nothing more than to turn back. Go back the way I'd come and go home. Unfortunately, that wasn't a viable option for me anymore. I'd left for a reason, and there was no way that I was going back.

So today I've realised something.

Since the age of ten I've wanted to be a published author with a publishing house and an agent.

Though I've always been anxious and scared of the day that I send my work off to a publisher or an agent.

But not out of fear of being rejected. I don't mind rejection.

It's out of fear of being accepted. I wouldn't know how to react if I got taken on. If I got published. It would be such a huge deal to me because I've wanted it for more than half my life.

https://m.facebook.com/Thesearchfortheperfectword-380415742165785/

Dark skies threatened to open the heavens and soak any unfortunate person who happened to be outside. Heavy winds wreaked havoc in the streets. Trees groaned under the force and leaves tried their hardest to cling on to the branches, but their attempts were useless. Most children were stuck in school and a lot of adults were at work or hiding at home from the battering they would receive off the ruthless wind. The unlucky people who happened to be on the street were fighting to get to their destinations. Some ran from place to place to limit the amount of time they had to spend in the terrible weather. There was only one type of person who could stand being in the gale force winds and one of them was walking slowly and happily through the quiet streets. A young man walked along, dodging past others who seemed totally oblivious to his presence. A slight smile tugged at his features as he watched a woman have her umbrella snatched out of her grip. He knew he could get it back for her if he wanted, but that would have been too easy. Running his fingers through his hair, he glanced around. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched, but that wasn’t a new feeling to him. Once he was content, he ducked into a small café. He made his way through to the back and ducked into the men’s bathroom. He didn’t need the toilet; instead he walked to one of the small sinks and looked in the mirror. A slight chuckle escaped his lips.

“Jesus Adrian. You need a serious haircut.” He spoke to his reflection upon noticing how long and unruly his hair had become.

Sweat poured off my body as I tossed and turned uncontrollably in bed. My racing heart straining against my chest, my breaths coming short and fast. All my limbs were tangled in the sheets with no means of escape. I was panicking. Unable to stop myself as images played through my exhausted mind. Within moments I would be awake. Jolted awake by another horrifying nightmare. I'd been to psychiatrists, I'd been to doctors, I'd been prescribed every medication you could think of. But nothing helped. Trust me, I'd tried. 

Sure enough, my eyes flew open and I instantly sat bolt upright in bed, looking over everything to make sure I was alone as I had been when I had fallen asleep. I no longer knew why I even bothered trying to sleep, since every night was riddled with nightmares. Dreams insane enough to make any normal person admit themselves into an insane asylum. Maybe I was insane, but I didn't feel like it was severe enough to put myself through the torture of being in an asylum with no escape. I'd rather try and fight my way through it alone.