Freeform 4 | Silence

I crave a simple silence
With you in my arms
Only the sound of your heart beating
And quiet breaths.
The heat of our bodies
Melting away rampant thoughts
Fears, insecurities, bad memories.
Everything dissolves to only you and me.
In perfect silence, we remember,
Indulge and savor
The perfection of our love.

Flash 19: Thank You.

So, I almost died. I didn't, you know. I'm here. The darkest cloud has passed, a grey shadow lingers.

The worst is over.

Another time I will write for me. Today I write for you.

There are people in my life whom I love, or have loved, who do not love me, or as much. I suspect this is true for everyone, one way or the other.

In embracing my moments of truth, I was forced to realize what I would be leaving behind if I were to leave. For days, bound to a hospital bed, full of pain, worry and fear, I realized how many mistakes I have made.

I understand your anger with me.
I understand the mistakes that I've made.
I understand the weakness, the oversimplicity, the inadequacy of an apology.
I understand why you will never trust me again.
I understand that I am flawed. Critically, in some areas.
I understand that you are also flawed.

Yet we love the people that we do for whatever illogical, sentimental, mind-numbing compulsions, reasons and validations that our heart allows.

Love is a flight of fancy. Love is falling. Love is a leap without looking. There is no single, greater, primitively simple concept than love - that is also equally as complicated.

And if you loved me, my flawed, imperfect self, for only a minute. An hour. A day. A month. Shorter. Longer...

If in that moment or series of moments, you showed me what being loved was like, to be accepted, wanted, needed, respected, cherished...

I thank you. With all of my heart. It is what I want to give to you, this appreciation. No matter where our paths lead tonight or tomorrow, because what I realized, upon that hospital bed, was that I could leave it all behind...

Except for expressing gratitude.

If nothing remains of the legacy of the time we've shared together, whether moments or millenia, then a great shame that is. But if one thing that I have been given the chance to put forth to you, comes right here, right now, if this becomes my last letter to the world that will ever be viewed...

Then I thank you.

To fear death is to know what life is - and to also know that it has not been lived.

But I found, in my moment of truth, that I did not fear dying. I feared that I did not get a chance to give thanks for those irreplaceable moments that I have had. I find myself gracious in a way that I should have been more often.

Now, I am here writing. I did not die. I am quite unstoppable.

So I must also take this opportunity to say thank you for showing me the truth of you, for revealing it to me, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, whether good times or bad. In my darkest hour of fear, solitude and need, you showed me the truth I needed to see, where and what I would be to you.

Through that truth, have I been given the clarity and insight that has been hidden from me.

For some, our journey is over. For others, our journey begins.

When I faced my life, full of fear and pain and worry, alone in the darkness - my only regret was not having thanked you for the truths you have shown me.

Now, I have. My journey continues, and I am stronger, wiser and more gracious for the experience.

Haiku 5 | Lips

Poised perfect pillars

Sweet and soft, Heaven's gateway 

Love, kiss me once more.

Flash 18: Mouth

Perfect pink pair parted, poised, prepared to press playfully, to ply persistent and private passions upon my eager persona.

How I hungrily starve for her sweet kiss... enamored though I am of all her fully, truly, fantastic features, it is her mouth I miss the most.

Sweet sinful sensations tremble up my spine from each hot kiss, whispers pass parted pillars and posit promises temporarily postponed. Her tongue, flicking, licking, working its magical, mystical way to my starving parts, melting me. She makes of me a felon, fiendishly, fervently forgetting my sense and dignity - the charm of her warm mouth, peerless, paradisiacal, is purely criminal.

Let me kiss thy wanton lips, devour your decadent mouth, swallow your hesitations with my ravenous, primal hunger... with one, two, three perfect pecks... your mouth works upon me as a paintbrush, your soft, wet stroke upon my flesh canvas depicts a glorious union of desire and intent, of passion and satiation, of dreams and reality.

I think to beg, to plead, feeling a fool for my feverish urge, my understated, indescribable yearning. I cannot understand how her mouth makes such mockery of my maintained machismo. Before her heavenly portal, I am but putty, mindless and yet, single-minded in my want.

Some secret she stashes, suggestively, upon those sweet succulent mates, her tempting twosome of perfectly paired pink pillars, and I am driven mad with desire to feel her mouth upon me.

Flash 17: Hope

Every single day I hope.

My heart beats in my chest with such fervent anticipation that my dreams will be realized.

Each morning, I rise and write words of passion, of love, of romance... and lie in wait, hoping, for the response that will make a difference.

This is my activity, as a writer. I write the truest words that I can find within myself and hope for the impact that they will have. I hope that my passion will inspire and compel her into action. I hope that my wisdom will bring light to her darkness. I hope that my truths will disperse the dark, murky haze of doubt and fear.

Outside is cold, wet, grey.

I wait. I hope.

How many days of beautiful words, and tender hearted sacrifices until it is good enough? How many times must I repeat a theme, an idea, before it is heard?

Come forth the empty promises, the soothing sweet singsong nothings that portend to fill me once again. Alas, it is dining on air, not even bread and water, but for my own inner strength, it is enough. Sun rises and sun sets and I wait for my words to bring her to me, by the light of a silvery moon.

After so long, it is the habit of trying. It leaves me empty and forlorn, the shell of the man I once was. But the words, the images, the memories are locked into my head and I draw upon the power they give me. I create, I hope, I wish, and I wait.

One day, actions will give meaning to the words that are my actions. She will know my love, my passion, and value it. Come to it. Treasure me the way that I have held onto hope all this time.

Having hope is worth the effort. The man without hope is already dead, and I have far too much to live for.

Flash 16: No Man's Shadow.

Image Source.

Mine is the fire of passion, of ambition, of the knowledge gained through years of studying people, places and things. My rage quenches my fear, I will face any challenge. When my fire burns, I am unstoppable.

My flame burns brightly - I live in no man's shadow.

Are there others greater than me? Of course there is, on some scale that I do not care about. I do not care to hear about your man and his million dollar home, his luxury car, his successful career. I don't want to be reminded that he took you to your favorite place in the world, and the drunken debauchery that took place there.

I find it inappropriate that you revel me with tales of your ex, of how he always knew how to be calm and to soothe you, of how he introduced you to kink and another lover, of how you met all the friends you have now because of him or the other.

When I am deep inside of you, do I live with the knowledge that his cock filled your cunt before I arrived? That your tight ass was first stretched by him? That you drank his cum, and rode him and brought him coffee? That you got on your knees and licked his balls before we met? That you told all your friends about him, that you told him you loved him and that there would never be another?

I will spare you my own tales of drunken debauchery and one night stands, of long lost loves and immature romances. Because when you are mine, our flame ignites and the world melts away. That is how I see it.

That is how I want to be seen.

I'm tired of living in a world measured by your experience with other men. Can I not be appreciated for who and what I am? Starving artist, angsted poet, passionate lover, part man - part beast? Have you ever met another man such as me? I think not.

I want there to be a her who can come to me as if I was the only one. We both know it's a lie - but it's the perfect lie, it's the lie that we all want to feel when we're in love. That we come to our lovers pure and untouched and only they show us the world. Is that so much to ask? In order to be mine? That you cast the others aside?

I believe in who I am and what I have to offer. I know that my passions burn greater than any you have known. I know that's why you are here.

Every day we are together, I live in the shadow of some other man.

I will not do it.

My flame burns too bright. I live in no man's shadow.

P.S. How is it that women expect men to embrace them and their flaws, but can be so highly intolerant of our own faults?

Haiku 3 and 4 | Patterns

Source: Patternsofreflection.com

Patterns in events

Grow strikingly expected

My warnings ignored

They tell me I'm smart

Yet ignore all that I say

Ironic, somewhat.