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Writing Entries, Writings

Losing 74 words: Because paragraphs need dieting too

Here’s my response of this week’s DP challenge.

Original paragraph from my 2011 post entitled The Small Dagger :

She was lying on the bed—as how she spend most of her days after the funeral—and looking at the ceiling, and she felt so emotionally numbed that she could not shed a teardrop anymore nor feel anything that even her breathing seemed so distant to her. And the air in the room was so still and so cold and she could only hear silence, pure silence, not even a bark of a dog or a car passing by or a ticking of the clock. Her mind was also as still as the air in her room, and there was not a single thought that came to her even if she tried to think.

After shrinking it:

Since the funeral, she spent most of her days on bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling lost and numbed. She could not cry nor think anymore as her mind was as still as her room filled with silence and cold air.

There! So from 115 words, I’d reduced it to 41 words. I don’t know if it get’s better or what, but it’s a fun challenge!

P.S. While writing this post, I’d noticed that I’m censoring and simplifying my choice of words. So far, this seems to be my smallest entry. 🙂

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Would-be’s

Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon

It’s a cold rainy afternoon, and it’s weekend, and there’s nothing much to do but read a novel, watch TV, or curl up on a bed with him—with First. And in that moment and time, I imagine that he is my husband and it’s already the future that I’d always saw in my visions and long-lost dreams—

He would be in the kitchen making a cup of hot tea for me because my stomach is cramping after eating the lunch that we’d had, while I’m on our bed, on my side with a book, waiting for him to finish whatever tea he is brewing.

Then he would silently open the door, and I would hear his footsteps but I wouldn’t look at him and I would pretend to be so engrossed in the book I’m reading when the fact is that all I want to do is to look at his beautiful face the entire day.

Then I would hear him place the cup on our side table, and then I would hear the bed creak, and I would feel him on my side. He would wrap his arms around me and my stomach and he would kiss my bare shoulders, then he would whisper to my ears, “Still hurts?”

Inside I would smile, but I would turn to him, and making a face I would say, “Yes, a little.”

He would nod in understanding, and I would see love and concern in his eyes. He would bring his face close to mine, almost kissing me, then he would breathe, closing his eyes, and I would inhale too his scent, clean and heavenly, and I would feel instantly safe, and then he would whisper to me that he prepared me my favorite tea.

I would touch his beautiful face, grateful for having this being before me, and I would murmur, “Thanks.”

Then with that, he would open his eyes and would lock his gaze on me.

Then he would smile and I would forget that my stomach is cramping or that the protagonist in the book I was reading is about to get shot and I would forget everything in the world, and why I even chose him, or why I even have a problem in choosing him in the past, for this is my reality now; he is my God-willed and God-given reality. Then, as if knowing that I’m about to be lost forever in his eyes, he would nudge me gently, kiss my forehead, and remind me softly that my tea will get cold any moment if I don’t start sipping it.

 

Random Thoughts, Writing Entries, Writings

Morning Pages Bared: Dig deep into my thoughts

An entry to Daily Post weekly writing challenge and a first timer on *yeah write.

Yesterday on my way home, a poem was building on my mind. A poem about you and me. But not really you, for it is more about me and how I want to feel the beauty of feeling that people always ascribe to love. I wanted to capture it in a poem, even for a fleeting moment, a poem just full of happiness and no pain. I wanted to feel the happiness, even for that poem, even by being just inside that poem. So I resolved to write it when I got home. But then I got lazy and I went to bed early instead.

There I read a book while I lay on my stomach, and then you came to me as always, and I saw your face, and I felt every bit of you as you cup my cheeks in between your hands, and kissed me lightly on the lips, as you always did now. You must love me or respect me to kiss me like that always, the way I wanted to be kissed, not the way you wanted to kiss me. You might think I might not notice, but I do. Because the first time wasn’t how I really wanted it. Just passion and lust. And I don’t want anything like that. But then I noticed as days and years pass, you changed. I mean the kisses change and how you held me every night. For the first time then, I feel love from you, and you started to be more gentle, in your kisses, in your hugs, in your touches.

I still don’t believe anything of it is true. I’m the kind of person who pretty much believes in everything, and don’t believe in anything. It’s like being on two opposite poles and I’m never on the center. Sometimes I believe on everything, and then the next time, I don’t anymore. That’s how I am like. So there were times I believed in you, moments I tried to let the idea sink into my head, down into my heart, and deep into my soul.

But there were moments, and there are pretty much many times when I tried to cast it all away. To banish you, to push you away, and to pull myself away from you. And I enjoyed those times. Yes, I enjoyed harming myself when feelings went too much because I don’t know how else to cope but to feel another pain, much more intense than the first one. And that’s how I do it. Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m not. But definitely having you in my life nailed me as one.

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               *Continue to next page…

Poetry, Random Thoughts, Writings

Amidst two kisses and loves

A year ago I wrote a poem for him
A year after that, nothing change
Apart from my poem’s claim
And my feelings for you and him

Thinking of him still reassures me
Makes me feel safe, secure
Thinking of you still unnerves me
Makes me want to run, disappear

His embrace is as steady
Unfailing as a cold marble
Your embrace is as encapsulating
Comforting as a warm blanket

His kiss feels like floating
On a cloud on a first winter day
With snowflakes falling softly on the ground
And songs of angels singing fill the air.

Your kiss feels like of earth being set on fire
Where the ground shake with chaos, confusion and doubt
All the while interspersing seamlessly
With love abound

His perfectness I must have adored
For it’s your humanness I have loved
For while he is my heaven
You are my home
And while he is my dream,
You are my sleep

He is my peaceful breeze on a rainy plight
While you are my thunder on my calm night
He is my winter,
You are my fall
He is my calmness,
You are my elation.

But none of that
Seems to matter now
For both of you
Are leaving me

He is my past
You are my present
But neither of you
Seem to belong to my future.

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Burning

I was warned a long time ago.

When you see an ember, run.

Run till you feel again the cool calm breeze of the wind. Run and go where everything is as peaceful as a baby sleeping on a mother’s lullaby. Run till you forget everything.

Then breathe.

Let the wind fills you up, your mind, your being, your soul.

Be with the wind, which is as constant as the universe’s anthem.

I was forewarned. But I didn’t listen.

For have you ever seen a fire set on a beautiful night? Glorious and amazing, isn’t? It comforts you in ways that a wind cannot. It warms you in the all the right ways as long as you keep a pretty good distance with it.

Distance, that’s it. And I thought I found the key at last.

So the next time, I approached an ember instead of run, and took the fire as my wind.

And let it’s friendly heat slowly filled my being.

fire-ember-4065

They say that when you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will jump right out. But if you place it gently in a pot of tepid water and turn the heat on low, slowly warming the water until it gradually heats up, the frog will stay until he is boiled to death.

It’s burning now; as bright as an afternoon sun in a summer’s day.

And maybe I’m a frog for I didn’t see it coming.

Or maybe I chose not to see it.

I’m burning.

Or maybe I’m just plain stupid.

For love is a fire. And I’m Icarus, flying too close to the sun.

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This is my entry for Bekindrewrite’s  Inspiration Monday: Friendly Fire prompt, using the Friendly Fire prompt itself.

Oh, I miss this! It’s been a long time since I last submitted an entry for InMon’s prompts. And it’s so nice to be back. Though, I’m obviously still searching my way around writing again. 🙂 My mind needs more fuel for creativity.

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

A Memory after an Episode

As I opened my eyes, I first became aware of the all-too-familiar metallic taste in my mouth. I run my tongue around the inside walls of my mouth, and licked my lips, savoring the last trace of the sweet salty taste of blood.

Then I noticed that I’m not alone, and as usual he was with me, holding me tightly closed in his chest while we were sprawled on the floor, much like how I always found us after my Episodes.

“How did I do?” I asked finally. Continue Reading