The vista
Light shimmers on the glassy surface of the pool as a soft breeze glides across the water. On a warm day, it would look inviting, but today it's overcast and the blue sky is hidden by countless shades of grey. Beyond the pool, the meadow is lush and green and the view extends to the tree line, then a small rise lined with towering gum trees and then mauve and hazy in the distance the lines of mountain ranges, fading into obscurity.
A spindly tree stands, ghost-like in the foreground. A lifeless entity in a sea of frantic activity. It's leaves long gone, it's corpse slowly disintegrating under the relentless pressure of the elements, the fungi, the insects - spores and mouths eager to consume the ebbing remnants of the tree's life. One day, gravity will claim it - and with a whoosh, it will crash to the grassy ground below.
Boots rest up against the doorstep - angled to catch the breeze and any shy rays of sun that might peep out from between the clouds. The boots are damp from trekking through the dewy pasture in the field - and are covered it small bits of mown grass - which cling to the brown leather with a stubborn stickiness. Wet socks hang on the glass pool fence - and flies buzz around them in interest.
The timber deck around the pool is worn and sun-damaged and parts of the planks have rotted and been replaced. The wood is warped from being repeatedly wet, then scorched, then wet again. Without maintenance - the entire deck would crumble within the space of a few years.
The deckchair is weathered and grey - matching the timber that it sits upon. The cushion black with white stripes - or is it white with black stripes? Perhaps it is both at once - or neither. The edges of the cushion are worn and frayed and the seat of the chair is splintered and broken. It look uncomfortable.
The water ripples again - fracturing the light apricot reflection of the roses, flickering between light and shadow and light again. The sun is straining against the clouds - and for a few moments, the sky brightens, but then it fades again. It's going to be a grey day.
Peace
And just like that,
rough patches do pass.
Everything was going to be okay.
Just like how I told myself.
I wasn't going to let crappy people alter the softness of myself.
I wasn't going to let whatever comes in my way ruin me.
I learned my lesson from last time.
I'll be the shining light in the room and it'll drive people crazy.
But I like it.
I'll love myself so much that it'll drive people insane.
I didn't need other people's validation to feel worthy.
I have myself.
Life's too short to hate on my reflection.
I decided today,
I'm going to be gentle with myself.
I love me.
<3
- in my hopeful era
Dark Universe
It’s on nights like this
the devil calls me home
with little pockets of stone
and electrical charges
face to face
with dead tones
my body embedded
in powdered pale
reflections of
mercury
blood
ice cold
and blue
It‘a on nights like this
withered and weary
I call to memory
black mirrors
tangled strings
a soul wind howling
and your coffin
collapsed upon sand
as I go on
aging and living
through this hell alone
It’a on nights like this
oceans become
hurricanes of doom
while lovers fall
intoxicated
by breath
and crescendo
ink turns to
ashes and soot
watered down
tattooed
and scattered
across this
dark universe
Dear Prose(ers):
It is with deep gratitude I write to acknowledge all you have done for me this winter. I know I am not amongst the most prolific, well-spoken or intelligent in the group. I know I don’t read or write as much as others (especially lately). I know I have been largely slacking on my likes, follows and reposts, which makes me feel bad on Discord as I see I am missing some really great content. I know it has been such a long time since I have participated in a challenge and I missed so many great ones, both reading and writing them.
Yet this platform has been like an invisible hand holding mine through my seasonal depression. Each time I venture to share my heartspeak I receive nothing but positivity, love, encouragement and understanding.
This winter was the worst in a long time. I abandoned nearly all of my positive habits which have been my stabilizers over the years. This resulted in me shedding all the tears my dehydrated self (so much bourbon) could muster. Each morning I spent 2-3 hours lying in bed convincing myself to stay alive first. Get out of bed second. And so on and so forth until I found myself washed (most of the time), dressed (all of the time thankfully), and at my desk at work, where suddenly I fit again.
If it weren’t for @fudo, @ledlevee and @putski, I may have not written or socialized the entire winter. If it weren’t for The Prose, I might not have made it through alive.
So if you ever wonder if you make a difference in the world, know that if you read, liked, reposted, followed and especially commented on one of my sporadic posts this winter, you helped save a life. I can’t tag all of you for fear of missing someone and creating a hurt where I am only trying to pay back love, but if you are reading this, I am definitely speaking to you.
And of course my indebtedness to @jeffstewart and @A and @mamba and the other Prose ideators and administrators, known and unknown to me, knows no bounds.
I feel renewed this morning, woke up wanting to enjoy living instead of convincing myself to stay alive, so I know the depression has passed until late fall. And the very first thing I had to do, was say thank you to y’all.
Heartfully,
Mee Jong
