Love (Page 3)

Library reading room. Empty wooden swivel chair at wooden library table with book open on the table. Glasses on top of book. Wooden bookcases with blurred bindings of colorful books behind table and chair. A steak knife lies on the floor nearby.

TW: Suicide

I feel my chest heave as I walk through the kitchen.
Heavy breath, warm and wet.
My pace deliberate, pronounced.

Cold steel grazes my neck, awakening memories.

[continue]. . .

Sunlight illuminates the well-worn hands of an older man wearing a tan sweater. In his hands, he holds a young, green plant nestled in soil. Fertile ground, with young plants, is seen in the background.

Of what more worth are we than dirt,
with vain ambitions nigh?
Crawling up on spindly legs,
to gaze upon the sky.

[continue]. . .

The hands of an elder woman, dressed in black, holding a rosary while praying.

Her hair hung down in ashen curls,
on skin all snowy white.
Hazel eyes adorned her face,
her collar buttoned tight.

A rosary wrapped around her hands,
on which countless prayers were raised,
a gift from Mom, to a little girl,
that lasted all her days.

[continue]. . .

A fog-covered, back-lit Medieval battle scene, in silhouette, with cavalry and infantry.

Long after the war has ended,
it rages in our hearts.
Continually choosing sides,
is driving us apart.
Finding some small difference,
separates the two.
In the war of us and them,
it’s time for us to choose.

[continue]. . .

A woman stands on a long, wooden dock that stretches out into the distance. She is wearing a lightweight, ivory-colored jacket, striped stockings, and a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor, All Star, high-top sneakers. With both hands, she holds an old suitcase in front of her. It is made of light brown leather, is water-stained, and has a handful of torn and worn out pieces of travel stickers stuck to its front. One of the matching, leather securing straps is missing.

I started looking deep inside.
Finding ways to let down my guard
and be true to who I am
instead of running and hiding from myself.

(695 words)

[continue]. . .