love
All you need is Love, and Love is all you need.
Marigold
The wind violently brushed through the branches of the trees which crashed against the edge of her bedroom window. It hadn't yet started to rain, but the clouds had begun to cluster turning the afternoon sky into a gloomy grey. The air was moist and the scent of rain paraded through the air. The dark and gloomy weather seemed to reflect her mood. She had somehow mustered the strength to rise today. She had mustered the strength to put on her mask of a smile, through the tears. She had mustered the strength to shower and dress herself, and as a bonus she socialized, all while considering it to be an accomplishment of the highest degree considering she hadn't done any of these things in a matter of days. She stood at the doorway of her room, frozen, and stared out of the half open window that she had left the crowd to close. The curtains flowed into the room with the wind. Pieces of the branches and bits of the leaves from the tree that banged against the window, left a debris scattered below the window ledge. Through the window, in the distance she could see the marigold flowers that seemingly mocked the mutual feeling of despair that she shared with the weather. She stared at the marigold flowers in the distance and they angered her. Their bright and cheerful petals stared back at her through the approach of a storm and they screamed and laughed the name of her dead lover as they whimsically swayed back and forth and side to side in the wind.
By Sabrina Taylor-Smith5 years ago in Humans
Where it ends to begin.
That’s the first thing I noticed. The color. As if it was a firefly in a dark room. This bright and rich golden, orange color means a lot to me. It reminds me of Autumn and it represents a new beginning and an end. I was born in October when nature catches on fire and the leaves become inflamed with orange, yellow and red; just before nature becomes dull, gray, and cold. October is both an exciting and a depressing moment since it reminds me of the years that are passing, while also pointing toward what’s to come, that’s exciting. Golden, orange color means all of this: the past and the future. Bearing both distress and hope.
By Rebecca Gauthier5 years ago in Humans
To Entropic Love
When we think of love: we think of sun light scattering thoughtfully through shutters; we think of the moon rising above mountain ranges and the clouds sharing its light with the sky; we think of it as whole, not partial, but solidified and undying. To know love, however, is to know that this is not it’s true form. A form that is no more a form at all than the shifting seasons. Love is limited, its beauty defined by its transience. To think of love: we should think of raging winds and crashing tides that together erode populated shores; we should think of two asteroids against all odds colliding in the vast nothingness of space, only to be sent hurtling apart once more; we should think of that beauty existing, not infinitely, but powerfully with finality in tow.
By Wade Villani5 years ago in Humans
My Yellow
It can be startling how lonely and empty a room can feel. It once felt full, a room of life and laughter as you sat and told stories. As we gathered around you in what was, we found, to be your last days on this earth. We would make jokes and play games and you would ask us about life, our jobs, our goals and constantly remind us we were worthwhile, and you were proud of us.
By Emily Riddick5 years ago in Humans
Wedding Drums
There is a large cliff at Mantegna Falls, a steep and rocky climb. My fingers barely grip each small crevice, and my toes cling to every diminutive overhang as I pull my body up the face of a massive rock. At the top, I am too out of breath and too dizzy from the steep drop to remember why I have put forth so much effort. I only pause for a moment to take in the majestic view of mountains divided by this river pushing through between the rocks, and the tops of all these old trees staring up at me. The waterfall is to the right, sill towering over me, blessing me with mist as it falls 20 meters below. Its urgency to continue on its broken path is loud and distracts my thoughts from the task at hand. I step out to on the ledge; shaking as a few small pebbles roll past my white-knuckled toes and tumble down, vanishing into the cloud of vapor. There is no turning back, for there is no other way to get down off this ledge but to jump. Every second spent looking into the depths below makes it 100 times more difficult to rationalize this daring fete. Eyes closed tight, lips pressed tightly together as if not to let a word of good reason slip past. I push off the rock until there is nothing but air and drops of water pushing back at the souls of my feet. I am suspended for what seems like hours, heavy as I fall, feeling as if I will never reach the pool of water that awaits me. Screams cannot escape my lips. There is no time for fear, only to fall. When I finally hit the water, it is like hitting a brick wall, but the sensation is euphoric. Blissful happiness and relief fight through feelings of exhaustion and terrifying apprehension. This mix of emotion, this level of complete and utter exhaustion, is how I can best describe the weekend of my Teka.
By Ginger Green5 years ago in Humans
The Angel in the Dark
I’ll never forget the first time I watched Star Trek. I couldn’t have been more than 4 or 5 years old. Bedtime was pretty standard in those days; lights out by 9pm. Of course, I didn’t normally volunteer to go to bed at 9. If Mom missed the deadline by a few minutes I wouldn’t say anything just to score extra playtime. One night in particular, though, she missed the deadline by a lot. 9:15 passed. 9:30. 10pm. As much as I was enjoying being up, I started to feel a little guilty for not saying anything. Then I began to fear I’d be in trouble when Mom realized I hadn’t. So I went to talk to her.
By Nick Smith5 years ago in Humans
Elsie’s Garden
Elsie loved summer the most. Not just because it was warm and she could spend all day in her garden but because it was when her garden would bloom into so many vibrant colours and types of dahlias. Her dahlias won prizes every year at the town fair and people would slow down as they drove passed her place just to gaze at the beautiful garden that wrapped around the front and down one side of her little house. In the back was a small barn like structure her husband had used as a work shop. Some of his woodworking tools were still there waiting for someone to come and put them to use. The last thing he had made for Elsie was a silly duck with wings that turned in the wind. She would put it up each spring when she was planting her tubers, to keep the birds from getting into them. It’s bright yellow seemed to give the birds enough warning that they did not bother the plants much. The yellow duck was a good companion to the yellow marigolds Elsie would plant all around the edge of her garden to keep the pests and slugs out. She prided herself on using natural, chemical free ways of protecting her garden and it paid off. She won prizes at the fair that helped her with a little income and she sold bouquets of her flowers from a road side stand. Each morning she would cut fresh flowers and fill the little buckets with water and bouquets. Setting out the little buckets and locked coin box securely attached to the stand for each day was what kept her going. She was able to make enough income each year to somehow get by.
By Gina Solomon5 years ago in Humans
Love & Pieces of a Puzzle
Peace In Everyone, I will keep this as brief as possible. Love relationships are like a puzzle in so many ways. We are one of those puzzle pieces. Each of us come to the union with our own unique edges which are our personality attributes.
By Shakeenah K Fentis5 years ago in Humans
