Prose
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Some argue that we can find use in love. Although, there’s utility acknowledged in love only through the basis of what’s received, not in what’s given. Social bonding creates complex societies. Evolution requires an environment, like an intricate society, to increase adaptation’s pace. One advancement follows through to the next, and the theme of “expectation”
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It is an even field, an evened space between them, or that is what’s assumed. There’s a summer’s sunlight overhead, and a thousand unseen droplets of sweat from a hundred different bodies. All of them, animals. A choice is highlighted. One that acts out in doing what can be done to close this gap. Whispers
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Whatever I’ve seen happen to her, stays with her, while I’ve gone to shed tears in private. If I’m to blame, she won’t admit it, and won’t lash out. It isn’t necessary. I recognize it, by myself. For I see what I’ve caused, because I’ve broken down her walls. Four of them. They closed her
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When I walked in, he was asleep. His eyes closed, though his chest did not rise. I knew. In that moment, I knew. He had nothing left to weep after. No more burden to keep his existence a semi-purposeful one. Nothing more to fight for, because illness had carted it off. Death has given him
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To them both, everything echoes. One voice crawls to the other, but both come back to their giver, receiving remnants. Of what? Of hope. They’ve seen the other side. They’ve transferred more than can be undone. She looks at him, seeing a world covered in the butterflies from her stomach. She released them to him,
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Wild. Almost wicked. He has walked close enough. Up to her, where any closer will be through her. In his arms, it’ll come soon, but he’ll hold a ghost. Someone who wasn’t here a moment ago. All around, heat blends with its accompanying scents. It wraps, pulls, and can’t let go. Lavender for a calmer
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He takes his time leaking his presence into her. Just as she had done, before this time he is taking, the same as he’s taking something away. He stands. She’s sitting. This isn’t submissiveness from her. This is acceptance. A better strand of hair, from her, would turn grey. He favors honesty above nearly all
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A shadow has been extending from a motionless figure. How long has it been going for? How long has she been seated there, counting leaves that descend due to meeting their time? In the corporeal world, it has been a mere minute. But in her mind, her presence in this position, this stagnation, has been
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She brought her sunlight inside. I could see it, as I wasn’t blinded. I wasn’t hiding from it, because it lifted a merry smile upon my lips. What were any words to say? To this, I can only watch. A flood of bliss departs from my heart in this swelling yearning to fully explore her,
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I keep grieving on that last word, hoping that meteors will reverse themselves. Or that an eclipse will bring back its former light. Or that a tidal wave would not have crashed to topple a tower – that tower, the one where we were unified. Being held upright, because there was a desire to be
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I re-envisioned someone in a different state. A new world. Another pathway. She drew herself back into collapse, as all things, all memories would fade in her shadow. I drew her in, I carried her home. Many times, I brought her into open arms. Would they close? Would they ever truly close? I embraced an
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It was a display. A sight. A sight that had nothing for me to see, for that’s what it was. An absence. Neglect. What did she neglect? All of me, from all of her. A part of her had been torn open wide, by love, than for what love did upon me. I felt its
Modern Romanticism 