Carnations. Red bloody curly petals all over the cold hard floor. Pain filling up her aching soul, an acute sense of bloody uselessness, her life breaking to hopeless pieces, dead flowers covering the ground, remembering her of a love that used to mean everything but that has become nothing. She felt no longer his presence, no longer his loving words, no longer his loving touch, she felt abandoned like a piece of unwanted trash, rejected like a broken mechanism that could no longer tick with sounds of life once known. All left was only the disfigured shadow of the man she loves.
Pain. A way out she prayed to see again. No idea how tomorrow would look like. Not the vaguest strength to carry on with this tragedy. Him, laying sleeping drunk on the floor, holding still in his fists the rest of the carnations brought to tell her what he didn’t know how to verbalize anymore, him all surrounded by the rest of the bleeding shreds scattered allover by her in an attack of passionate rage ignited by seeing him coming again in a state that never stopped to humiliate her in front of family, neighbors, strangers.
She, in a corner, crying, endlessly cursing her own life and wishing she would have never been born or no longer been alive. He, in another corner, sleeping, seeing in his dream her beautiful face, radiant with the love she used to give him, as he caressed gently her cheek, feeling so bloody guilty but so in love with her while kissing her forehead, this awesome woman that could no longer see how much he bloody loves her, how much he is depressed because of not knowing how to turn back the time and start it all over again. With her. From scratch.
It rains with words here
however they are not just words, they are feelings.
It used to pour with memories
yet they were just heartbeats left behind.
Though drops fall over my soul
I’ve always loved it, for rain reminds me that I’m alive.
Digital art: memyselfandela, 2013
Many people feel isolated and unable to connect with others because of previous negative experiences, depression, shyness or simply because of not finding someone that shares the same interests. In an ocean of personalities we have all some similarities, but no matter how much we resemble, we are unique.
Taking the photograph of this beautiful foxglove reminded me of this uniqueness. Among hundreds of purple foxgloves, this was the only white one. People that are a bit out of the so called “norm” are often not understood or appreciated. Though in my opinion they are the most beautiful and amazing.
100 words, memyselfandela – August 2013
Photo – memyselfandela
I can hear You in every whisper of the wind
And every little grass sings Your name.
And every little flower rejoices in You
Like I can’t anymore.
I don’t need to put my finger in Your Holy rib to believe
For I simply know that You are here.
But I need You to put Your Holy finger in my heart
So I can live again.
Show me how to take a step after another
The way you teach a child how to walk
And in this humble existence,
On my lone path and from this pained soul,
Show me how I can find the shelter of Your peace
So I can return Your smile.
memyselfandela, July 2013