Grief is remembering
Grief is the absence
Grief is too many blankets
Grief is missing the constant shedding
Greif is wondering if it was right
Greif is no more farrier or vet visits
Grief is like an ever-present ache in my chest
Grief is looking at a field and seeing missing silhouettes
Greif is not hearing soft calls and snorts of nighttime grazing
Greif is a saddle and a bridle, gradually collecting dust and cobwebs
Grief is a small pile of apple peelings, set aside out of habit
Greif is knowing that an imagined future of summer riding is now cruelly impossible
Greif is looking at old photos and wishing they captured more than image, the essence
Grief is a pair of darkened doors, both closed, as if they are mourning as well
Greif is wondering if it could have all been prevented if something had been even slightly different
Grief is a stall, empty of sawdust and swept entirely clean for the first time in ten years
Greif is the feeling that everything is different, but not in any way that can truly be described
Greif is wondering if the lost future could still be a possibility, in later years, after time has passed
Grief is knowing that the past can never return, and the pain of learning to move past two stall doors.
Sonnet for Class
Death stalks forward on the silent tread of a cat
Eyes on predestined prey, it patiently finds a place to sit
it pushes a struggling spark away with a thoughtless bat
Souls flutter and dance futility until they fall, no longer lit.
A soul flutters up, but is caught, carefully fit
into place; Pushed towards dark nothingness, an impossible door -
And death turns away, unable to ever truly quit
the dark pursuit of all souls that it stalks across the endless floor.
The souls stir around inevitable feet as it hunts evermore
Heedless to calls for more time, arguments that this isn’t fair -
It moves onwards, on feet bleeding, swollen, sore
Forever cut loose from the merciful tethers of time to spare
A soul flickers past, bursting in bright orange
As death passes, it falls with the final scream of a rusted door-hinge
A single moment that expands into infinity, a heart pulled out and untethered in one terrible snapshot
The Spiral of it All
There's a queue, in my head, of everything
Tabs, open forever, fading in and out of existence
Sometimes, they fade forever
But mostly, they drift in and out of the depths,
forever waxing and waning like waves on a shore
The waves are dark, right now, and I can't stop them.
They're usually carefree, happy, snippets of sounds, thoughts, sentences in silly voices.
But not right now.
The loudness of a bone snapping, an instant death sentence
The wrench of loss, and the terrible knowledge that I can't run from it even as I run.
It shouldn't have happened.
I screamed, trying to understand, as my heart seemed to shatter.
She should have been fine. She was fine.
It shouldn't have happened.
I keep wondering what I could have done to prevent it all
I don't think it's fully hit yet, but it has at the same time.
She was supposed to live longer.
It's like there's a physical weight on my head, a heavy crown.
I can't get her back, and that hurts more.
White daisies and a dull eye
It shouldn't have happened.
The point of it all
The dimensions were wobbly, and it was hard to explain why, exactly. But they were, and the strange things that started to happen slowly became normal, like wearing masks, staying home, distancing. The fact that the ghosts appeared at night honestly just made the whole thing more believable. I had heard about people waking up with WW2 soldiers, mummies, lost kids starting at them, eating their food, doing anything and everything before disappearing as dawn hit the windows. So I wasn’t too shocked to wake up to see a bluish figure sitting primly on the end of my bed.
“Hi?” I mumbled as I blinked the sleep from my eyes, trying to make out their blurry features as I fumbled for my glasses.
“Hello.” He (obviously a he) said.
I somehow knew he wasn’t speaking my language, but I could understand the words. I shoved my glasses onto my face, blinking a few more times.
And that was Hitler. On the end of my bed.
“Uh..How goes it?” I asked, a bit numb.
“Where am I.”He asked, his voice oddly flat.
“Uh.” I stated eloquently.
He blinked at me, and I tried to not stare at the blue liquid dripping from his mouth.
“What year is this.” Hitler said. Hitler, who was sitting on my bed, not dead, a ghost. Frowning. At least it was an easy question to answer.
This got some reaction. He blinked, eyes widening a bit, before narrowing and focusing on me.
I folded my arms as he continued in the same flat voice,
“It’s 1945. I am-was going to rule the world."
“You’re a ghost in my bedroom. Why would it being 2020 be so impossible”
“I’m not a ghost.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”
He folded his arms. “Where am I.”
“My house. It’s an apartment, actually, not a house.”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes seemed to be changing, showing more emotion, despite his emotionless voice.
“Why am I here.”
“I wish I knew that.”
He blinked, focusing on me again.
“You don’t know why I’m here.”
’fraid not, you’re just another crazy 2020 thing. Blame the government, or something.”
His eyes were looking around the room.
“What is the point of this.”
I blinked, not sure what to say. He continued.
“I can’t feel anything. I should be in heaven. I can’t remember anything.”
He looks up suddenly, and his eyes actually seem to have emotion, a desperation.
“Are you here to take me to heaven.”
I couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh as it came from my mouth.
“You’re not going to heaven, Adolf.”
“You know my name.”He stated, blinking slowly as more blood dripped from his mouth, staining his folded arms slowly. “Are you here to judge me then.”
He didn’t answer, just watched me.
“Why else would I be here.”
“I don’t know.” I admitted. “Maybe I’m just a witness. Maybe there is no reason.”
He looked away.
“What happened to my dream.”
I scoffed. “Your ’dream' was destroyed by the rest of the world. We stopped you. You were found dead on April 30th, 1945, after everything you’d planned was stopped by the Allies.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Of course you don’t, I didn’t say. What would be the point?
“Are you going to judge me.”
“That’s..” I sighed. Everything I’d learned in school, all the horrible stories. I took a slow breath.
“I could. But that’s not my job. I’m just a person, you just happen to be in my bedroom tonight.”
Hitler didn’t say anything to that. I moved my pillow behind my back, watching him silently. I sat against the headboard as he stared at nothing. The clock ticked until I lost count of the seconds. The sky was turning grey.
"I don’t want to die.”
I blinked. The stains of blue on his uniform were huge, now.
“I wish I could care.” I snapped, tired, impatient. “But I really don’t."
“You are here to judge me then."
“Maybe. I don’t know."
“I’m proud of what I accomplished. It’s not done yet.”
He didn’t struggle as I shoved him into the sunlight.
Hello hello! I have absolutly no idea what to write to introduce myself. Here's the basics:
- Cannot spell to save my life
- Christian (though I don't like advertising this fact (woo negative stereotypes))
- Art, writing and creating too many characters for no real reason are my pastimes (Also reading either 18th century novels or going on an AO3 spiral that lasts for weeks.)
- Trying to think what else to write here.
- Currently (had to look up the spelling for that word(thanks, self doubt & abysmal (how can I spell abysmal but not currently??) spelling)) listening to Rob Cantor
- I write more emotion than I usually emote in person.
- What else?
- I think that stars are amazing
- I love animals, especially mythical ones
- Not sure what else to add, but I'd love to chat!
Someone searching for unusual things hidden under layers of doubt, shadows and distractions to treasure
The love of winter is as harsh as it is breathtaking
As warmth freezes into a devotion that only melts slowly
As lovely as the quiet that comes with a layer of snow
As quickly as frost covers a window, as swift as a breath of icy wind
They smile like a early flower, a beautiful decay halted by a frosty touch
Breath halts as it’s stolen away in a wide-eyed instant
A mountain hiding treasures hidden in crystaline forms
The tiniest but most stunning gifts in thousands
An avalanche of emotion
A secret cave hidden in the snow
But a frozen lake can be as deadly as a fire
It leaves, frost in its wake
But the remebrance of a million moments lingers like ice
Returning again when it steals the warmth
And replaces it again with the wonder of cold
A story about you
Curious? Suspicious? Maybe, I can't tell..
What comes next?
They hadn't yet though about how the words sounded, in their head, until reading those last words, in this longer-than-average sentence.
How is it spoken, in the silence? With an accent, perhaps? A whispered sound? Loudly?
Loud. Loud. Is it louder when it's straight, or tilted? What about Bold? What about NOW? Why so different? Are they different?
A pause. Perhaps the reader considers the voice reading this in their mind. Are they different when they're spoken aloud? (Are those voices the same? Really? )
Now the reader slows. down. stops, a bit, with each small pause, or? The voice goes up! Does it go up now though? will it stop if we sudden-
Apparently yes, but maybe not.
What about now? Whisper. (is this quieter somehow, can you hear over your own thoughts?)
Or perhaps the words sound different, when read with, well, unusual emphasis. Now it might sound a bit different, what do you think? Anything? Anything? Anything?
The voice is getTING MORE EXCITED, LOUDER! MORE!
Is it still loud? (or is it quiet again?)
Does this have a sound? This, right here? ? ?
What about, !
It might, if you consider it?!
You (might) realize, how constrained we are. By little symbols, these, ev,en when? they make! no real. sense. Your brain? It. still! will pause, but th.e pauses? they! sound different. (Maybe?)
Or how if you imagine that one person, you know who, reading this, the words might sound different than those usually in your head.
Can you even imagine the voice in your head?
Does it change when you try to pin it down?
Does it fade?
(Only you know that.)
The sound of a startled cry
As I grin down at wide eyes
A melody of pain
As I begin again
Why shouldn't I?
"I'm such a nice guy!"
Yeah, thought you'd say that
But your pleas just fall flat.
As I take another try,
You keep telling lies
You keep trying to hide
But I take it in stride
So keep telling lies
No more a surprise
I won't look away
as your face starts to grey
That look of dispair is one that I prize.