From the “wine-dark sea”
Surfaces new awareness:
Once wine-dark, now blue.
About the Creator
Helena Woroniecka
As a PhD candidate in biochemistry and cell signaling, the more I learn about science, the more beautiful the world seems. I had always enjoyed writing before becoming a scientist, and now I am trying to connect back to my creative roots.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Helena Woroniecka and writers in Poets and other communities.
Nothing insightful here
I have nothing insightful to share here. There is nothing profound in this piece, no meaningful observation on human nature or any intimate personal anecdote. This writing simply exists to occupy space on this screen, to maybe enjoy some of your attention. That's all. The way children don't need a reason to poke their hands in the mud other than to feel the cool squish between their fingers. The way your lover, somewhere in the thick haze between waking and sleeping, doesn't need a reason to pull you closer in the middle of the night other than to feel a bit more of your warmth. The way wild horses don't need a reason to toss their manes in the air other than to feel the wind's gentle ruffle, just passing through. The way you, my dear, allow yourself to rest without needing to "justify" it by explaining it'll make you more productive later. The way you allow yourself to eat food that tastes good just for the experience of your taste buds coming alive, without crafting an exercise plan to burn the calories later. The way you allow yourself to pursue hobbies that bring you joy without caving to the pressure to "monetize" them. The way you allow yourself to simply exist, to occupy space, and do things just for the pleasure of doing them without needing to ascribe a reason for it all.
By Helena Woroniecka2 years ago in Poets
Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.