Sunday Scribblings #16 mountains

We are running and running, hiding in the mountains,

I hear myself breathing your name

A sound barely above a whisper.

Far away from the reality that will crush us,

We are giving in to our secret desires.

The flowers you brought to romance me

Are scattered all over the floor, damaged by our hungry passion.

And I moan your name,

It rolls heavily off my tongue.

Our lust reverberates from these walls,

It is seeping into the floors; invisible to the blind.

And I scream your name in ecstatic bliss,

Flying high, then crashing down in waves of emotions.

The night is falling outside, stars shining bright.

I sign my name across your heart;

It will be protected by the ghosts of the mountains.

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Written for Aaron’s Sunday Scribbling. Take a look at his blog, or consider using the prompts that are published each Wednesday to write, too. Prose, fiction, poetry, non-fiction, essays… everything is allowed.

Sunday Scribbles #15 – mirrors

No more empty eyes in the mirror glaring back at her. Done with insecurities fueled by people who never listen or don’t care. No more. No more. She wants to be free. But something is holding her back. Yesterday, she was drowning herself in tears and regrets, but not anymore. She puts her hands on either side of the sink and lowers her head. Her hair covers her face like a dark curtain. With a determined and defiant sneer, she throws her head back and looks at her reflection. She has no idea who she is seeing. Is that really her? Has she changed as much as she is accused of having? She feels broken and bruised inside, but none of it is visible on the outside. Her soul is in shards, cutting her from the inside. Broken heart. But her skin is unblemished; the battle scars hidden under layers of life. Her brown eyes scan her face once more. All she ever wanted was human contact. She hates being vulnerable and only rarely shows it, because if she opens up, shares her most profound wants and needs, talks about her opinions and fantasies, it always ends in her being pushed away. She tries to smile. It is only a grimace. She wants to feel alive. And loved. But the real her is not loveable. She tries staring into her soul but doesn’t see anything—only empty eyes in the mirror. And as much as she tries to pretend that everything is okay, nothing is. She is a hostage in her own cage.

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This is my contribution to Aaron’s weekly prompts. I don’t participate every week; I am not that creative these days. And it is not much this week either. Just something I improvised when I saw the prompt. Visit Aaron’s site Confusing Middle

Sunday Scribblings #12 – immortal

This week, Aaron gave us the following prompt: immortal.

I didn’t write anything new, but it reminded me of an image I created and shared recently.

Polish_20200724_170224231.jpg

The black background is a close-up of a vinyl record. The dots are the flash of my mobile camera, and the words and the name are mine.

I write a lot of fiction, but some of it is inspired by people in my life or those who are not in my life anymore. When I wrote the above quote, I thought about a special man who taught me many valuable lessons over the years and who will forever have that special place in my heart. And because he has that special place inside my heart, he is immortal. I write about him, about who he was to me and how he made me feel. I fantasise about what could have been and what never was.

When I think of you while I write, then you will become immortal too. Like Aaron who shares questions, reviews, these writing prompts, and much more on his blog.

I believe that it takes a long while to be truly and completely forgotten. Everything we do has an impact on the people around. Isn’t that a nice and scary thought?

Or, as the Austrian Post-Rock band Our Ceasing Voice said: The only ones dead (are those who are forgotten)

(From the album “When the Headline Hit Home” 2011)

Sunday Scribblings #5 – light

There is light in your eyes, I can see it when you are happy, and I can see it fade when sadness covers you like a thin veil. You think that nobody sees when your light is dim, but I do.

Let me hold you in this dark storm. Let me comfort your worried mind.

There used to be light in your eyes. It is less bright now; the weight of your mind is darkening your thoughts. One day soon the sun will rise for you again, and there will be bright light.

Written for Aaron’s Sunday Scribblings Challenge. Every Wednesday he shares a prompt to write something. I am not terribly inspired these days. A challenge like this helps. 🙂