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Photo by Bianca: https://www.pexels.com/photo/cobweb-on-tree-branch-1722050/
She started the water in the kettle, then began preparing two mugs. She pulled herbs from jars and concocted some floral tea infusion. He didn’t see her hand hover over the prescription bottle she kept there, but his angels must have been watching, because the water was ready as she was about to open the bottle and decided she wasn’t ready to deal with a second body.
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Photo by Skyler King on Unsplash
It was a simple plan. Her parents were on a weekend getaway. I was going to wear something cute, and show up for a little Netflix and hope that Abby’s brother wanted to chill. What could go wrong? I mean, I was nervous about the same plan that I failed to execute all through summer, fall, and now winter. He was always on his way out, or he went directly to his room.
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Peter shifted slightly, but she knew that stance. She knew the change in his posture and his voice. She swallowed heavily and he knew she was just as affected as he was.
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There’s a story hidden in the broken panes of glass that still filter light through the verdant canopy. The wind that whispers on the air will speak in riddles about the mysteries living in the walls of the old manor. She knew what she was doing but understood there was no one to stop her. All she held that night was her protection charm and a sense of duty, carried in the pulse of her veins.
Read moreHis broad shoulders and towering height had all of the women in the office swooning, but this was dangerous for a succubus. Anna could control her hunger when she wasn’t thinking of it, but today was painful.
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If you listen quietly under a full moon, you can hear the call of the ocean. It’s not about luring you to your death as much as a love song to the waves, but it won’t bother a mermaid if you walk out to sea, never to return to land.
Read moreShe waits alone on the bluffs, facing the winds that would fight her stand. Strands of hair whipping across cheeks lashed by the cold bluster of sea kissed air in haphazard frenzies and flurries dance chaotically around her still body. She looks defiant and bold but courage has left her. She trembles within where the ebb and flow of love and worry have battered her. The sun slowly warms her skin in spite of the constantly barraging wind. The attack becomes a caress and the air breathes a whisper, "who are you?" She breathes deeply, knowing she's been given the breath of life. As she exhales, her faith is the renewed purpose begging to answer, "what's my contribution?"
She thought of her favorite literature and the accident of its survival. Through the burning of heritage by conquerors and the libraries that lost battles with floods and fire, its survival has been a lucky mistake of history. There's no reason to its survival from oral tradition to written prose. She is the guardian of her favorite tome, memorizing stanzas and caressing phrases on gentle lips that try to hold the beauty of each image with gentle breath in honor of the miracle of its persistence. Its survival is an accident and she will honor each word.
She feels the strain of the day as a pulse that throbs at her temple. She feels the pressure rise a beat under her skin. Humming and throbbing a frenetic rhythm of life. She knows who she is. She carries the blood of lifetimes before her. Kings and slaves of distant lands and time came before her. Women that carried babies and lead their households give her generational strength. The back breaking labor of men in fields and railroads, through racism and scarcity support her and she feels her spine straightening. Her existence was no accident. Her life on this earth is woven with purpose. It runs through her veins.
With a deep inhalation, she swelled with the fire bestowed by the breath of life and exhaled a fortified surge of power, knowing she was ready to offer the world her contribution. She was ready to walk in love. She was ready to be brave in spite of fear. She was ready to be courageous, no matter how much the pain of her loss manifested as an empty ache in her belly. She would continue to lead with her heart, offering love because she knew it would only fester into pain if she held it quietly within. She was ready to lead. She was ready to show others the power of their identity.
In the blowing winds You'd be my anchor
Together we are the storm
The pressure drops
A hostage to your gaze
The calm you hold
Keeps me grounded
While I hold you high
Fallen leaves circle our feet
Crisp air metering breath
I hiccough in cold
Paroxysms of pain
vying with relief
Found in your arms I brace for it
Clouds shift slowly
burdened by crystalline weight
The pressure falls and I'm lifted
and beaten
collective drops sting
cold and constant
Your touch a searing moment
of indelible memories
Steam rising from heated flesh
met with the pain of the storm
I step back and am removed
I don't live in the raging storm
you need to be rescued of
I don't dance in the laser flash of lightning
Because I was made for the sun