Whisper

Local's Glade

Sometimes it’s the whisper of an ex-lover,
the one you don’t quite believe.
Then it’s the brick that slides into the pit of your stomach
when you realize they actually did leave.
Death is the great motivator, to some.
It is the great incapacitator, to others.
We are motivated by its ever creeping slowly towards us to live a better life,
a full life a happy life.
Or, it incapacitates us with fear unable to let go, let loose.
Have fun.
Take risks.
All because of the looming fear of death.

Sometimes it falls slowly and softly, like a feather in our sleep.
Her last breath softly becomes silent.
Other times it slams into us without a second’s notice, the wall of inevitability,
taking us instantly.
The car crash.
And there are those times that it creeps into us.
The deadly vine that intertwines our organs
and our cells
and…

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It Would Have Been Nice

"...Julia longed to be at home facing the light blue of her bathtub, with its lavender-scented bubbles and much-too-hot water, ominously waiting the tears that would soon follow. She longed for her wood floors with the area rug that her mother gave her on Christmas, the one from Ross that was dark maroon, the color of the curtains on her front window, the light-blocking curtains that were velvety and dense like the water that she edged into on cold-lonely evenings."