Fractured Writings, Lorian Lilsiel [spanish books to read .TXT] 📗

sit, rocking back and forth, never quite able to put these thoughts into a sentence. Then all of a sudden, the pressure is gone. I look up to the night sky I sit under, and there are all my words. Shining just as brightly as the stars and snaking their way through the blackness of the sky. Stories are told, and things I had thought to leave unsaid said. At that moment, a tear rolls down my cheek, because until the weight those words put in my mind was lifted, I never realised how heavy they truly were. A Blank Page

 There is beauty in a blank page. Something untainted by thought. A world of possibilities humanity hasn’t even thought of yet. It calls out for a purpose, a story. It wishes to mean something, to be more than just a blank page. In that way, I suppose we are like that page. Calling out for someone to notice us and our untold story. There are a few who can hear it calling. The writers of the world whose purpose is to listen for the call of the blank page, and to answer it. Maybe that makes writers true romantics. For hearing someone else’s story- Isn’t that what we call love?

Poisonous

 Sometimes, I feel as though I’m poisonous, slowly killing all the people I care about. Maybe I need to go away, to keep them safe. No one can understand the feeling; the feeling of being perfectly fine while watching your friends and loved ones slowly die around you. Knowing it’s all your fault… Maybe I should leave, and not come back for a long while. Maybe not ever. Even if I die alone, at least the others won’t die. This poison inside of me, I won’t let it take another victim. And this is why I write. To say goodbye. For there is no coming back for one who is poisoned.

Butterflies

 In a moonlit clearing, in a jade forest, I once saw a bush as white as freshly fallen snow. It glowed brightly in the light cast by the full moon, and blessed the air with the sweet scent of apples and honey. Enchanted by its magic, I walked to it. The blossoms looked so soft, I shyly reached out a hand to touch a shining petal. When my finger brushed it, the bush exploded into a thousand white butterflies, all of them rising into the air at once in a beautiful cloud of gossamer wings. When the last of the ghostly insects had faded away into the night, I looked back at where the bush was, and all that remained were dead, skeletal branches.

Red

 All around me swirls an angry cloud of red, the emotions of some being brought to life. It’s hot, and it stings a little, but I can’t help but see it as beautiful. Streaks of gold and orange rip through the red in places, making it look like a wall of fire. I sit there, in the eye of the storm, and stare. Over time, the heat lessens, and so does the pain. The strings of red energy that make up the cloud slow down, and slacken. For just a second, I can see a spot of blue through the strings of red. And I realise, that maybe being angry, is just another way of being sad.

Goodbye

 So you couldn’t even say goodbye? I get it. There’s no going back from “Goodbye”. Goodbye hurts. What hurts more is seeing a person I thought was a friend walk by, only to have my bright hello met with half a “hey” and a strained smile. What hurts more is seeing someone you care about walk next to you for hours without acknowledging you’re there. What hurts more is seeing that person talk to others the same way they used to talk to you. Thanks to you, I’ve found that the lack of hello hurts more than the presence of goodbye. So goodbye friend.

Black Ink

 Here I stand in front of a wall of black ink. It drips down to cover its own cracks, and seal out whatever might have been on the other side. I sigh, and drop the pen in my hand - it’s work finally done. I sit in the safety of the wall I have drawn, and hope that the ink works better than the lead I used before. I won’t make that mistake again. I wall drawn in lead is too easily erased. I lay behind my wall and hope to hear people calling from the other side, asking to be let in. Only one call comes. It’s the only person I didn’t want to hear. I take up my pen once more and thicken my wall until I can’t hear their voice. Only when it’s too late do I realize that now I won’t be able to hear anyone else.  

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Publication Date: 08-26-2019

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