Peace and Awing Found in Breaking Points: Soaring
Prose
Just another night at the lonely heart's club, it was not. Two years prior, a different story. She came a long way since her last patronage. The pub vibe felt refreshing. Sitting on her once typical Friday night bar stool did not phase her. Her name was forever tattooed on the footrest but time faded its etchings-only traces of letters remained. She held her head high, sipping ginger ale, not craving the seven and seven she once threw back in an attempt to bury the pain of a nasty divorce. A loveless marriage that left her feeling undesired and broken. A chip on her shoulders to prove her worth prompted reckless drinking and quests of flesh encounters to validate a sense of desirability. A midnight marauder, she became, pursuing men, many men, in an attempt to find herself. Drunken delusional comfort faded when the whiskey novocaine wore off, leaving her shattered on the floor, pieces scattered, broken pieces; no peace, only fragments of a soul followed by ghosts...
She stirred her frosted glass of soda noting no tonic aftertaste just spearmint chewing gum; how refreshing, her spirit soared. Long-winded exhales once recycled ghosts leaving further imprints on her tired weary soul. This night: exhales were doves releasing, she welcomed her newfound peace. Sobriety meant freedom, unlike a time only a stones throw to the past. Idiotic drunken antics, carrying on with those men, round and round she went. The same old dance but different partners. Varied songs paired with different ball gowns on separate nights yet the beats all the same. She was just another dance and these men danced her all around the ballroom. A gentleman, she wanted. But she craved instant gratification. Reckless behavior fueled by spirits- wholly intoxification only fed the other spirits and the negativity left her half of herself. When the music faded and the lights came on, a crushed woman, she was, again.
Staring into her half-empty glass, she noticed melting ice cubes. She smiled to herself. Her troubles, relaxed. No longer did she hear the cries of her past, no more screeching night owls, no more hissing raptors, just serenading song birds lulling temperance and tranquility. So this is what it sounds like when doves no longer cry, she thought to herself. A song of peace in self love... Her cup may be only half-filled with liquid yet the other half overflowed with the distinct realization she deserved much better than the apparitions of yesterday. Peace flies with open wings shooing the ghosts away.
The pub door opens in the midnight hour. Patrons file in with a warm summer breeze. Her attention draws to the full moon. Dancing moon beams and brilliant stars light up her eyes. The night air feels like a dream; magic abounds... She senses unexplainable familiarity and for the first time that evening is aware of her physical surroundings. Her gut feeling compels her to turn around. She shifts her weight slightly to the left on her barstool. An invisible pull, magnetizes her curiosity across the room. And there he is...
A dim lit pub matures into an illuminated stadium but the focus is on him. Like a stage performance, a spotlight beams on his face and eyes collide. Baby blues and hazel hues intertwine like paint swirls on a canvas. Two spirits imprinting eachother, strangers yet hearties reuniting through time and space. She gasped as they held the others' gaze. Lightning struck flashing back through mutual instances; shared pain and regrets, laying all troubles in their final resting place. Two ships passing in the night, they were not. They were anchored, anchored in perfect alignment; constellations. The ghosts abandoned their vessels, jumping ship-now forever lost at sea. Entranced, the pair found each other in self-affiramations; a new dance was evolving...
He nodded breaking the silence's noise. She Turned completely in his direction dismissing the final callings of a phantom's enthusiasm. His perfect posture poised her persuasion. Cleancut with short polished black hair slightly parted on the right, she imagined his aftershave a spiced sage-a woodsy appeal. Her hazel's shimmered like gold flecks and he caught her impression. He stood up timely answering her hushed request and pulled out the second chair at his table seeking her company.
Her journey from the bar stool to the stranger took moments but she cherished each step, savoring a slow pace. She felt her heart beat to a new tempo, eyes crystal clear visualizing her scattered pieces making their final connection. An awing perception of peace, not only with herself in the present, but all pieces of her past. Collecting fragments, shattered glass bits, and molding them back together, her puzzle made sense. Sobriety was only a partial solution. Discovering self-love and forgivess, another. Giving herself permission to take a gander at life again was the final leg of her recovery. Her legs were sturdy and she felt balanced. She made her way to the gentleman confirming wonder and the days ahead bedazzled her. The pair danced and danced, twirling in perfect time. Each took turns leading never taking their eyes off the other. For this was not another cha-cha but a long running performance. And the spirits were at peace again; fly birdie fly...
About the Creator
Marilyn Glover
7x Medium boosted poet, editor, and Reiki Master who is at her best when in nature. Creating to boost humanity while often not coloring within the lines. Follow me at: https://gmarilyn009.medium.com/
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