He stormed out of the house, slammed his car door and sped away.  It was a mistake, but it was a better mistake than staying and doing something he would regret more.  The anger burned his thoughts, clenched his jaw and urged his foot to press the pedal into the floorboards.  Cars honked and drivers yelled.  He noticed but didn’t care.  They meant nothing to him.  Only the rage mattered.  Only the fire in his heart mattered.

A small voice in his head told him he was wrong.  It told him to calm down and stop.  It whispered that she was always faithful.  But his anger found the voice and bellowed at it until it cowered and shivered in the farthest recesses of his mind.  Then, unsatisfied, his rage pursued the voice of reason, found it, and strangled it with flames until nothing but ash remained.

The driver smiled in triumph and sadness.  He’d won and lost and knew both simultaneously.  The car tore across the asphalt, leaving tread in its wake as tires sang against sharp corners and sudden halts.  The frame shuddered under the strain, moaning and groaning in protest.  It would hold together, though.  He had put it through worse before.

He’d put them all through worse before and would again.  That damn voice of reason was like a phoenix and would eventually come back stronger to soothe away his rage.  It was every bit as predictable as the fight had been.  The whole process was a cycle destined to be repeated as long as their opposites attracted and their love languages differed.  The flames eating his heart began to ebb as exhaustion crept along his nerves and dulled his senses.

Renewed honks reminded him to ease back on the gas pedal.  Using the blinker he signaled and then safely checked his blind spots and merged across the lanes of the freeway to continue on in the slow lane.  He was too tired to deal with the madness in the others.  He was too tired to give them the attention they demanded.  At the next off ramp he exited and found the surface streets that would turn him back towards home.

They would apologize, hesitantly, and they would step back into their familiar patterns.  In a day or two the chill would disappear from their home and smiles and laughter would return.  The upswing of emotions would take control and they would be happy again.  They would be.  And then one day they would fight again, because the cycle had no choice but to repeat, because that is nature and manner of love… right?

continuing worth

This is a continuation of the story started here and here:

The darkness parted and his eyes blinked against the onslaught of light.  The glimmering and shimmering ground, as though reflecting a sunrise, stretched towards the horizon in a moving landscape of beauty.  Everywhere he looked there was a friendly face or a testament, a monument, to the natural wonder of the world he had left behind.  It was shifting chaos, but he found that he didn’t mind.  It seemed right.  It seemed normal.

Almost immediately he felt the oddness of time.  It had the same qualities of the time he had left behind but it wasn’t as solid.  He looked for the markers of when it might slow or race and found, to his surprise, that every second, every moment that had the weight of a second, held the possibility for both.  He no longer had to wait for them to come; he could control them as he wished.

His eyes scanned the crowd again.  He was looking for her.  She was what he wanted, needed, to find more than any of the friends waving for his attention or any of the gorgeous sights vying to be explored.  When he didn’t see her immediately present, he grabbed ahold of time and slowed it down as much as he could.

He started forward, taking large, purposeful steps, and waded through the crowd.  The ripples of minor bumps and impacts spread through those he couldn’t avoid colliding with.  Their reactions were distorted by the change but he didn’t notice.  He had one focus and one intent.

There would be plenty of time for adventure and friends and everything else this new world held.  There would be plenty of time to explore and appreciate it all.  But first, he needed to find her.  Once they were together again then he would release his control and let the moments unfold as intended.  Once they were together he would happily live, if that’s what this was called, at whatever speed time had in store.

Until they were together though, he would keep it slow so he didn’t waste one moment unnecessarily without her.

still worth it

When Trent left a comment hoping for more to the Worth It story I posted last week, I promised that there was more to be had.  It was only a half-truth because while I had thought there could be more, I hadn’t yet considered where the words might lead.  I’m not sure what follows is exactly what Trent had in mind.  But, … perhaps that is my mistake for assuming anything about his expectations in the first place.  When I finished the below I felt like I had created a good beginning (last week’s post) and a good ending (this week’s) but not a lot of middle.  However, upon further reflection I think I’ve come to understand that what I have created is all beginning and the true story is what comes next.

Anyway, that was all just a bit of my musings.  Here’s the actual post:

Age, being an arbitrary marker for the passage of time but essential for the value of life, took its toll on them as it must.  Their faces grew tired but their stories never did.  Their adventures slowed down but their devotion never did.  Their bodies started giving up but their love never did.

The glitches of time, the slowing and speeding at intervals, continued unnoticed as the couple gave themselves to their shared journey.  There were hard times that lasted too long and good times that were over too quickly.  There were children that redefined patience for them.  There were losses that tested their strength.  There were glimpses of happiness snatched as pooled sun poured through a break in the clouds, only to be smothered away again.  There was laughter and a home so full of giggles the windows rattled and threatened to burst.

Occasionally, he paused in those moments of brilliance and marveled how wonderful it was that time would slow so they could grasp that joy for a tiny bit longer.  And, then his mind would tickle with the hint of a memory but the spinning room of chaotic happiness would pull him from his reverie and he’d rejoin the fray.  Whatever the memory was, it wasn’t important enough to distract him from the present, from the now, from the perfection that was.

She passed peacefully in her sleep, an expected end that still hurt with an unexpected and impossible to prepare for pain.  It pierced his heart and mind in equal measures.  He wept openly and missed her desperately.  The echoes of their adventures haunted the quiet rooms of their shared home.  He no longer recognized his face in the mirror.  His body grew numb to the demands of the flesh.

He cursed time for taking his love from him.  How dare it split them up!  How dare it run out for one faster than the other!  How dare it!

But, then a memory tickled him once again and he no longer had the distractions to keep him from pondering it.  He pressed long into his past until he could pinpoint the origin and then an exultant sigh escaped his lips as he remembered: in his youth, he could recognize the glitches of time and change his actions to get the most from when it slowed and when it sped.

Closing his eyes, he floundered against the darkness and the pressing weight of the passing seconds crashing against him.  He didn’t remember the secret, but knew it was still within him if he could quiet his mind enough to glimpse it.  And then it came to him.  Opening his eyes he made a plan.  One last adventure.  One more unique series of moments, priceless in their finality, as all moments of life are.

The next time he felt the seconds collapsing upon themselves as time ticked away faster than normal, he gave himself up in search of his beloved.  He knew as the last breath escaped his lungs that even if he never found her, the search alone would be worth it.

To End Without My And

I don’t have any great words to use here… one again Rara’s words have left me hurting in shared grief over the depth of her loss. Read on and leave messages of love as you can.

Stories that Must Not Die

After pausing last week, we continue now with post 4 of 6 in the series of poems and prose that Rara sent to be shared with the Stories community.  Each posting brings us a bit closer to her release from jail…  If you can, and you haven’t already, please donate what you can to the Rara Relief fund.  Every little bit will help her get back on her feet.

We bought an ampersand stamp
At a fruitstand & fair in Nevada.

It was Wednesday, and her name was Wednesday
and I couldn’t resist the charm of the coincidence.

She made custom rubber stamps,
pressed into perfect wooden cubes.  Anything
you could ever want to imperfectly – repeatedly
impress onto paper,
formed in a few hot, citrus-scented minutes.

I blinked at him, wearing his favorite smile
and he heard by mind, and responded.

“There’s a Wednesday every week, and –

View original post 168 more words

my best dream

It was five years ago today,
We went up the mountain to say,
Promises of love and adventure,
Trials and triumphs,
Sorrows and joys,
But love and adventure most of all.

How have the years passed so quickly?
How is it possible for our bond to have grown exponentially?

Where will our family be in five more years?
Side by side, wherever we end up, I’ll have no fears.

I love you, my Queen,
You are, come true, my best dream.

Wedding - TOS walking away