Obscure Emotions
The only person I know and love who has always had a genuine love for life, who never just endured it, but rather always lived with the joy and abandon that seems to many a thing of fiction, was diagnosed with a neurological disorder that is slowly erasing who he was, replacing him with a man he was not ready to be. An old man in a younger man's body.
He spent some time in denial. Begrudging acceptance was followed by internalized anger and depression that surfaced as anxiety and insomnia.
A calm, accepting exterior is belied by irrational hope in miracle cures peddled by soulless quacks.
Interactions with others are explicitly avoided and when inevitable, are followed by the fretful query, "Did I look normal?"
Normal. Those brief moments of feeling like his old self.
Most often limited to nighttime when he sleeps.
All of this could be, and was, borne with stoicism.
What could not, however, was having him respond affirmatively to the doctor's question: "Do you have thoughts that you would be better off dead?"
Or, overhearing him say he hates himself, his life, as it is now and the cure-less future that awaits, where dreams are dead and you awaken to a nightmare. Every. Single. Day.
These glimpses of feelings he hides beneath a shell of strength and optimism (or is it just silence), opened a flood of tears that were neither cathartic nor soothing.
I suppose they were cleansing as they washed away the masks we wore to protect each other and ourselves from a reality we can't bear to face....
Except I think the masks are back in place.
The Color of Summer
They say fireweed is Alaska’s clock and summer is almost over when its magenta blooms reach the top, winter sixty days away, a bittersweet thought. The sweet side of this is that it means we are in the best part of summer, the heart of it, long days that seem endless, days that embolden us to take an afternoon off, climb higher up the mountain, fish a little longer in the creek, or wander deeper into the forest. The sun lingers and alpine ponds become swimming pools, ridges familiar paths, and boulders transform into picnic benches. Remnants of early flowers indicate the season’s progression, while later blooms promise there’s still a little bit of fun left to be had.
The color of compassion
I see a tiny boy digging into his tiny pocket. He pulls out a coin which he places in the paper cup of a homeless man. This same tiny boy marches on down the street where he hears a steel drum, made out of tin cans, sending beautiful music to his tiny ears. Once again, he reaches into his tiny pocket and drops a shiny nickel on the ground next to the street musician.
The tiny boy knows he has only one copper penny left in his pocket. He saves it for tomorrow. His compassion is not tiny.
Features and functions.
1. Learning pages. Perhaps another section or category dedicated to creative writing techniques, poetic styles etc maybe even with links to advertised courses ( perhaps
a potential source advertising revenue).
2. A critique function. Someone has already mentioned this, and I had thought of the same thing but an added feature, so that when you submit your piece of writing, an extra option is available "open for critique ". That way if you want feedback on a particular piece of writing, people know they can leave constructive comments on how to improve or spelling/grammar errors etc.
3. Easier typing/editing when using a phone. Especially ,when trying to edit or delete, words currently jump, disappear or double up for some reason. (maybe that's just me ?)
4. Post -Covid, an annual Prose event or function (the other meaning of the word ) maybe a competition, seminars, workshops, book signings etc. Where we could meet up if we are able, and enjoy the Prose community in person. :-)
The Window
the color
of the window,
not the scenery behind it.
does anyone contemplate
what a window would look like
with nothing behind it?
the color
of the window,
not the house inside it.
does anyone contemplate
what a window would look like
if there was nothing inside it?
nothing outside or inside
no sides at all
just a glass wall
between nothing and nowhere.
what would you see?
the color
of the window.