Short stories and poems

When you're a writer.

"You gave me a gift with a tender kiss to my soft forehead, and then You said, 'Cherish and keep this — it will never fail you.'"

When you're a writer, you have to get better at observing everything — even the contented blink of your cat who is sprawled atop of your crumpled duvet as you breeze through the doorway into your room, or the discreet twitch of their fingers as the accusing tone penetrates with an intense level of accuracy into the profound truth that had been desperately buried in the dark abyss of their minds, a futile attempt to shroud the piercing stares in a certain light that they have placed a dangerous, yet brave, amount of hope and bet on as a means to twist their gazes away from the reality.

How foolish.

When you're a writer, you are an individual who has acquired a mind that observes the world in a poetic sort of filter.

Her friend slowly turned her head so that her profile could be reflected within the gleaming pools of her eyes. "That's weird."

Why?

A mind that is drenched with an immense capacity for perception — "How odd." They think to themselves.

It's certainly beautiful, like a wooden wind chime that sways at the tender touch of a summer breeze, high-pitched chimes piercing through the tranquil air with a reverberation that pinches and pebbles the skin with goosebumps.

Yet, there will come many occasions when one would wish that the rings that vibrate at a painstakingly slow rate and disperse, dissolve, into faint whispers, would cease, even for a momentary second;
"Just let me catch my breath, it is so stifling that I'm afraid that my delibated lungs would no longer be able to hold out.

Just wait one second, are you willing to have mercy and permit a rest where a silence holds me close, where I can finally allow my eyes to flutter closed and a sweet smile to curve the corners of my lips as the vicious pounding of my heart softens and relents to the ease that effortlessly slides into my lungs and quenches the blazing heat delving its fangs into my tender flesh?

Silently watch the way they speak, move, and behave; at least then you can rely on yourself to determine who you can trust and who you must remember to forbid from entering into the foremost part of your heart.