She is an enigma.

A great work of art,

made to love and be loved.

The thing is,

shes volatile,

and dramatic,

and oh so passionate.

She's as grounded as a hot air balloon,

as stable as a rocking horse.

A creature like that can't be caught.

I stare as her chest rises and falls, nestled in the home that I have made for her.

Absolutely enamoured, and steadily terrified.

She'll be gone by the time the sun rises and I'll still be writing of her by the time the sun sets.

She is everything.

I thought.

I believed.

I was confident.

Now, I’m falling down.

You told me I could fly.

You told me I could be free.

If I just trusted in me.

If I just trusted in you.

I jumped when you pushed.

My makeshift wings spread wide.

You told me if I flapped my arms.

If I just believed in us.

I thought could fly.

But I didn’t.

I’m falling.

And I don’t know why.

Did I believe?

Was my trust in you not enough?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

All I know.

As I near the ground.

As I close my eyes.

I was wrong.

What if I had shared with you

The vision that I saw?

Would you have changed your mind

Could we bend the destined law?

Perhaps if pleading stronger

Before you closed the door

Departing from our lives

You’d turn back; walk through once more?

If I’d asked you four times

Instead of only three

“I have a dreaded feeling

Please, stay here with me.”?

Could I have pricked your heart

Waking truth; validity?

Hold at bay the tides

Set back the shore from sea?

If I shared the vision;

You sleeping as though dead

That morning as you slumbered

In the comfort of our bed

Could the words have power

Convincing you and Fate

When time, the hour beckoned you

To death; eternal wake?

"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work." -Ira Glass

Shit hurts. That's the reality of life. You think that things will get better and it will, but eventually it will get bad again. You'll feel yourself slipping back into that darkness. You'll see it coming and that's the most terrifying part about all of this. You see it, but can do nothing. Soon, you will be able to hold off the feeling for a while. The thing that you need to remember is that this is not you. It's your brain doing it to you. You can tell your brain to fuck off, but it won't. The important part of this is to remember that your brain is an organ. It can mess up too. You just have to know how to fix it. Soon, you learn to live with your brain and it won't hate you anymore. You can learn to tell it to be quiet and not listen to the awful thoughts that it has. Things will get better, but you have to want them to. It won't happen overnight. It's a process. It can be learned and I know you can do it. Stay strong. Okay? Remember, if nobody else tells you, I love you. I need you here. Don't give up before you are able to see the wonders of the world.

Streaks of sunlight

Glinted rays

Scattered specks

Once hidden, lay

Bare, vestibule

Alight; emotions

Precious words

Writ rhyming notions

Clouds may veil

Conceal, again

Hence, quelling all

Of ink and pen

But ’til the storm

A bliss to cherish

Golden, brilliant

Luminescence

Photo Credit:

Let There Be Light!

By Sorin Petculescu

He placed the phone on a small table and looked out the window again. The sky was even greener than before, strange clouds coming from the East. Eyes narrowing, he tried to see more details; the edges of the clouds seeming to be shredded somehow, a strange light coming out of the center. He felt sudden nausea taking over him, the shade of his face probably resembling the color of the sky. What was going on around here?

He sat on the sofa for a moment, his lost stare glued to the dark screen of the TV. His mum’s words ringing in his ears. “It’s not, Matty. Please...” If he couldn’t get out of the house or call anyone for help, then what could he really do? He sensed the panic rising, heart rate going out of control. This was just like the dream that he had since he was a little boy. The emerald sky falling down on Earth. The meteor shower, all those pieces falling into the lake. The water rising and... Mathew quickly got up, almost knocking over a coffee table. He ran over to the door.

“This was insane. It must just be a nightmare. Yes, that’s exactly what it was”.

He mumbled to himself and grabbed the handle, then turned it around. The door squicked slightly and a delicate breeze blew in. The air smelled of - his mind froze for a moment. It smelled sweet, a truly overwhelming scent. He could feel his eyelids get heavy but he still walked out of the house. He felt something pulling him in the direction of the lake.

______

https://theprose.com/post/259077/part-1-the-sky-is-green

https://theprose.com/post/259085/part-2-disconnected

https://theprose.com/post/259869/your-turn-collaborative-challenge