He was like a steamship coursing an endless sea, always traveling somewhere else. Far away and faded from distance and memory to reappear on a winter’s morning.
All I’d ever wanted was for him to stay awhile. He’d drop anchor having found his home in me. We’d find joy as hoarfrost turned to blossoms.
In truth, we were lovers snatching moments. Memories danced from projector to wall. Each clip a scene. In one: a café in Barfleur. The next: a foray through a hidden bookshop. As we lifted the jacket of an all but forgotten ‘Emma,’ history rose dusty and reminiscent of bourbon and oak.
Desire is a fickle mistress. Once more, I’d wake to discover he’d left.
Such a pretty tale you whisper
In the honeyed middle of a night
Of ships and sails, silver and gold
While moon beams bathe the veiled dark
We cast pearls upon the sea
One for love and two for loss
Three, for rumpled dreams
Awakening to shaken rain
Each word spoken, locked within.
Julie de Waroquier Photography
Whispered words tip toe across rumpled linen
to nestle in her ear,
“A broken heart is beautiful,” he said.
“It was a love beyond my control. A touch familiar yet fleeting, my June in December. Our minutes were numbered, we didn’t count them. Such is the love between the moon and the sun.”
~siddickens Memory Blocks
I will search for you in crowds, coffee shops, and blowing clouds. At traffic lights, beneath starry nights. I will pluck you from the rest: my dream, my wish, my love.
“No one believes in magic. This is what stars are for.
To convince us that we’re all believers in the night.”
Cast your sorrow to the skies
Angst for angels to gather
Let the pieces
fall gently back
Blessed salvation for your tattered soul.
“Could she get a job?”
Roy appeared perplexed. “Why would she?”
Who does he think he is? Stella reached behind and slammed the door shut. It was better this than her raised voice echoing through the reception area. Turning, she walked toward the chair behind his desk. She eased into the leather and crossed her long legs.
“You need to suggest she get one.”
Seated in his chair, she felt dangerous, dark, and beautiful. Stella knew this was everything he coveted. For a brief moment, she reigned in all of her defiance and finery. Her manicured fingertips toyed with the tail of silk draped around her neck. She bit her lip.
If she was a bird, she’d be a wren. Small in scale, perfect in faith. Sometimes, even wrens find their wings are too heavy.
I could see she was weary, a shadow of her past. The light that had once shone from her eyes, now dimmed. Words failed her. She had emptied out a million little broken pieces. It was sad. She had been hurt so much, she accepted it.
Her voice, a mere whisper, spoke. “When will we understand? To hurt one is to hurt all. This is the fault in our stars. It is the simplest of truths; we are all connected.”
I loved her more in that moment: beaten down, raw, and still standing. She was the strongest woman I knew.