She Wept

The sun pressed against the distant horizon in a passionate goodnight kiss.  The sky leaned in close and then flushed an orange that deepened to purple, in embarrassment, as it was caught snooping.  Turning its back on the embrace, the sky darkened to black as the sun released its hold on the world and disappeared.  The ground quickly chilled from loneliness.  It missed the sun’s love.

From her perch high in the mountains she saw out the day’s end, just has she had for the previous week, and she wept.  The fat tears rolled over the ridges of her cheek and dripped from the valley of her chin.  She let them fall unimpeded.  After the second day she hardly noticed them anyway and the darkness swallowed them whether she tried to stop them or not.  She shivered as the cold seeped up from the ground to latch onto her feet.

Infinite moments passed before the trillion eyes opened, slowly, at first, in ones and twos that then cascaded into a landslide of twinkling curiosity, to spy unashamed on the earth below.  The stars laughed and smiled at the antics of the people below, who were ignorant of the truths of life despite the emphasis they placed on the lives they lead.  The ground, grown cranky in the absence of its love, was less amused while it forcefully suffered the abuse of their pride.  It bore the burden of their trespassing in the day as well, but did so more amicably under the watchful gaze of the sun.

Cradled between a sturdy limb and the strong trunk of the tallest tree, she sensed the ground’s agony and she wept.  She had broken free of her ice shackles to climb where she might catch one last glimpse of the day, but she had been too slow and had missed all but the gathering turmoil.  It was not her duty to judge the pain dealt and received, that responsibility was another’s, but she couldn’t help the roll of emotions that thundered through her as it crashed up from the ground.  It was beauty and pain in equal measure, and more than she could withstand stoically.

The night reached for her and she reached back, giving herself to the air in a leap of trust and longing.  She felt the night carefully envelop her and she closed her eyes to the meandering shadows of the world.  She felt loss.  She felt free.  She felt the chill of a thousand supernovae and the burning fire of the only love she had ever known to be true.  The sky took her in and urged her to set aside her pain and weariness, but asked for everything else as well.  She was tempted, and she wept.

Just as she had every night before, she opened her eyes and banished her impatience with a scream that quieted the creaking of the earth.  Just like the ground waited for the return of its love, she too could wait.  The eternal nothingness howled in rage at having nearly claimed her, and, letting her call fade from her lips, she sighed in relief.  Her grief was great, but it was not so great she would relinquish beauty and inspiration and love just to be rid of it.  Sunrise whispered its promise from the other side of the world and her heart swelled with hope.

And, she wept.

I cry very easily. It can be a movie, a phone conversation,a sunset--tears are words waiting to be written.: Omar Gordillo, Teardrop, Art Sketch, Cry Eye, Amazing Sketch, Art Drawings, Pencil Drawings, Drawings Eye, Tear Drop
Image Credit: Omar Gordillo Sorto

the box

We call them heirloom gifts…

For the past couple years I’ve been receiving hand-me-down gifts for birthdays and Christmases from my parents.  Sometimes these are gifts from my childhood – my baby book, drawings I did in school, my sticker collection, the hospital receipt from my birth, all the letters I wrote to Santa (I’m still not sure why he sent them back to my parents, but it’s better not to question whatever magic is at play there), etc…  Occasionally, the heirloom gifts from my parents are possessions from my grandparents that they are passing along little by little.  One such of those gifts was a box full of little odds and ends.

I started to sift through that box immediately after I opened it.  I loved my grandparents and miss them greatly, and was excited to see what treasures of theirs I was getting.  At the same time, I was sad that my wife, the queen, and our little prince will never get to meet them.  A full range of emotions was bubbling away under my calm demeanor.

I began to pull things out of the box, smiling as a memory here and a memory there were shaken loose from my mind and allowed to float to the surface.  All the while, a pain in my heart and soul grew stronger and stronger.  Each new item was more painful than the last to dig out of the box.

I pulled out a couple pairs of socks my grandma had knitted and smiled thinking of the hours she had probably spent on her davenport darning them.  I pulled out a couple of the lighters my grandpa had kept in the top drawer of his dresser and wondered if had ever used them or if he had collected them after he stopped smoking.  I pulled out a pair of fancy dress gloves that were my grandma’s.  I pulled out my grandpa’s wallet, opened it, and…  Well, that is as far as I was able to get that day.

The pictures he kept in his wallet, the memories tucked safely away for his keeping, were too much for me to handle.  I put everything back in the box, thanked my parents and moved on.  I tried to fight back the tears that wanted to well up and pour down my face.

I have no idea how successful I was.

The box has remained unsorted, unreviewed, safely stowed away since that day.  Eventually I will pull it out and go through it.  Eventually I will see what other treasures are waiting for me inside.  I know I will find things in there that will make me smile, and laugh, and cry.  Eventually I will be ready to face all of those emotions.

a friend lost

Rara has provided a prompt (details at the end) I can’t ignore now that I’ve finally found a few minutes to do some writing…

… In Junior High I was a loner, an outcast, a nerd – before it was cool to be a nerd – in a school full of jocks.  Most of my friends from elementary school had gone to a different Junior High and the one friend that had transferred with me and I had a falling out very shortly into our inaugural year.  I had a few other people I knew and would hang out with from time to time but no one who was a “close” friend: no one to share secrets with, no one to bare my soul too, no one to depend on and to be dependent on me.

It was a very trying time.  I was bullied.  I wasn’t happy in any of my classes.  I didn’t feel like I fit in and I was seriously considering taking my mom up on her offer to home school me.  There were tears more days than not.  Tears of frustration.  Tears of shame.  Tears of humiliation.  I was miserable.

Then, out of the blue, I was moved out of one of the classes I wasn’t happy in to a different one.  New teacher, new classmates, new period… and in this new class, I met Joe.  Or, did he meet me?  Or, did the teacher somehow pair us together?  I don’t remember anymore.  But, Joe was exactly what I had been missing in Junior High.

We went on adventures together.  We got into trouble together.  We partnered on projects.  We laughed, we played video games, we played basketball in my front yard, we went rollerblading all over town, we shared secrets, we bared our souls, and I knew he had my back, just as he knew I had his.  We were BFF’s before that was a thing.

He helped me survive Junior High.  And, we were inseparable for several years after that.  At some point in High School he ended up transferring to a different school, and while we remained friends, we started to go our separate ways.  Eventually, I left town to go to college and we lost touch for awhile.

I ran into him again the summer after Freshman year of college, and we caught up, promised to stay in touch, and then never did…

A few years later I got a call on a random afternoon from my mom.  She was reading the local newspaper and had come across a name in the obituaries…  She wasn’t sure if it was my Joe or not and tried to break it gently in case it was, while hoping all along that it wasn’t.  It was.  He had died in a car accident, leaving behind a wife and children I didn’t even know he had.

The news hurt.  A very physical pain.  A lot of the pain was for the world losing out because he wasn’t around anymore.  A lot of the pain was for the family he had left behind.  Most of the pain was because I hadn’t kept in touch with him, and I had missed out on stories, and adventures, and everything else… and I would never have a chance to correct that mistake.

Time moves on and the pain dulls, but I’m still fighting tears, unsuccessfully, as I type out this total suadade.  I miss my friend, Joe.  I miss having the option of calling him up and saying, “Hey, remember that time we so on and so forth…”  But, I do remember those times, I treasure them, and they still make me smile, even as the tears run unchecked down my cheek.


rarasaur, forthepromptless

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Saudade is a Portuguese word that describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something/someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing will never return.

Saudade was once described as “the love that remains” after someone is gone. Saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again. It can be described as an emptiness, like someone (e.g., one’s children, parents, sibling, grandparents, friends, pets) or something (e.g., places, things one used to do in childhood, or other activities performed in the past) that should be there in a particular moment is missing, and the individual feels this absence. It brings sad and happy feelings all together, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling.

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