Choice

Giving, giving, giving.

Giving without expecting anything in return.

I am trying...

Lady of 53...

My eyes will just not close.

I stare at the shadows of my room, listening to the cicadas and crickets singing to the moon.




Is it possible that I will sleep alone the rest of my life?

Disbelief

Sudden realizations reveal the unbelievable reality of his indifference.

How did he manage?

How did he extricate himself from the tight web of our love?

Why is it that he feels nothing while I am left with the void and the ice?

How can a human being run away from the sweet glow and protection of such a love?





And yet it happens, every day, every hour.

Feelings mutate. Some die as the cocoon opens. Some become butterflies.

Mine are flying high.

Despite everything
                            defying
                                       silence
                                                 distance
                                                             guilt
                                                                    resignation
                                                                                     rejection
                                                                                                  solitude.

I guess, I am in love with Love...

Beauty

To all those grieving hearts...

Cherish yourselves and know that working on your own personal happiness is the only road to healing.

I am trying, knowing I am not alone.

Knowing that my struggle carries dignity and spirituality.



That every minute we spend fighting the urge to call our ex-lover's telephone number amounts to colossal and beautiful energy and self-respect.

That each tear rolling down our face shows that we are sensitive and courageous.

That each deep sigh expelled from our chest proves that we are openhearted and devoted.

That each stubborn comforting step leads us to a better way of balancing our emotional lives.

Disheartened

Sometimes it takes one boring phone call, adorned with trivialities about doctor's appointments and lack of news, to cage all the subtle winds blowing in one's precious Hope.

My Lost Feast

Everything was a feast when observed from the nest of his chest.

Who gave me the right to get angry at him, when I had it all?

Memory One

My towel drops without a sound on the soft mat.

My feet enter the sizzling white foam.

The hot water engulfs my body in maelstroms of pleasure.

The room is dark.

Spheres of trembling light float above white candles around the tub.

I call him.

His eyes glitter.

His mouth is half open.

Flashes of a happy childhood flicker in his surprise.

      Christmas mornings

            Birthdays

                  His first kiss

                        His first song


I will never forget his expression.

I will never forget that moment.

When love was at the reach of my fingers, in a bubble bath.