Freedom To Love
Laura said her good-byes, her heart in her throat, and walked resolutely to her car. She could tell from the looks in their eyes before she left that they weren't sure what she should do, either. All except Johnny. His eyes spoke of yearning. They were, in fact, a mirror of her own heart. She yearned for him, and had for nearly a dozen years, though now doubts shadowed her thoughts. Insecurities had made a tight knot deep inside about his want of her, for how long would it last, as his life rapidly changed for the better? Her life had been on hold for the day, well, for the coming of THIS day, and so far it had been anti-climactic.
“If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude.” Maya Angelou It would have been easy to pick any of the beautiful women that have resisted, pushed forward, marched, motivated, or been martyred for others through words and actions. There is a long list of those many of us acknowledge, and surely a much longer list of those that we do not. I have chosen to share with you about one that is not well known, yet her works, and indeed, what she chose not to do in her life, had lasting impact in the lives of many.
Trigger me. He commented on the picture I posted of the food I had made... “So the food looks as tasty as you do.”
Letter to my friend… How can I make you understand that my phone is not an addiction, but yes, a distraction, from the pain? I know what I know about you, and the many others that have no idea about my pain, and I realize there is absolutely no way to explain it in a way that you could grasp this anguish; the days and nights without his touch, the dreams, the nightmares, the memories, and now, the worst yet, the inability to remember certain things about my late husband. Oh, I remember him, because he’s unforgettable, but in my efforts to distract myself from the pain that made me want to die a thousand deaths to avoid the waxing and waning from emptiness to sorrow, the sharpness of certain things dull. Ironically, now I mourn for the loss of the feeling, though cerebral, of his hand in mine in the middle of the night when my sleep was disturbed. I mourn for the reassurance from the times, in our beginning, when I still had the horrific nightmares that had plagued me for years. He bore it with me, and held me, even as I fought the invisible demons of the night.
The Sexual Optative
“I know you,” he said. He was close to me, close enough to whisper his words, and they still thundered in my ear. I felt the warmth of this closeness, and his breath smelled like coffee and caramel. I glanced up from the organic produce, kiwi in my hand, but only so I could see his lips, because if I had ever kissed them, I would know. Medium lips, pouting in the middle, by nature and not intent, and a sharp jaw line. He had dark hair, yet no beard or moustache. Chest hair peaked out of the top of his button-down flannel shirt, and I saw a couple silvery ones, too.
The Bird and the Pearl
I had not eaten or drank anything all day. Yesterday was one month since my husband’s passing; food held no allure for me. A visitor stopped by in the afternoon, and it was probably the last person in the world that I wanted to see, yet in the queerest way I was thankful. I suddenly had the urge to lock-up the place I had been locked up in for three days, and go find something good out there. There must be a positive in this town, I thought.
Soul Lifter: Polyamorous Hero
In the beginning, I knew him only as Suman, from an insomnia group online, living 5000 miles away in the UK, and I was ignorant to the nuances of polyamorous relationships. He was handsome, intelligent, and funny from the first group message and pictures shared all around. Of course, he would be taken, the love of another, and I hadn't bothered for details. My understanding of polyamory was only in its definition, in black and white.
Jay: The 'Real Love'
Our conversation had faded, with him being in the living room relaxing after the meal, and me cleaning up, and loading the dishwasher. It was the least I could do, as he had prepared the entire meal with almost no help from me, even though he'd worked many hours today. The rich aftertaste of African food, and that last sip of wine, still lingered pleasantly in my mouth, and the fragrances of the leftovers were enticing and warm. Though I was full, the food is so nourishing, so comforting, that you feel you could always have just a little more.