Patterns. Soft shadows combining to make static fleeting memories of times now lost. Links once strong now severed with age and corrosive words. Excitement for the slightest smile passes through the cracks showing in aging façades, losing their enthusiasm as the patterns fade.
Gone. Tastes of laughter so succulent and enticing once upon a time now flavoured vanilla. The fast beating heart thrusting lusty thoughts of life and love but a distant memory, a pattern, a shadow now gone.
Forever. Remnants of who we are remaining like flotsam in an overpopulated river praying for our removal. Young eyes watching, learning then dismissing our entitlement to life, to love – to be. In the end the days are counted till we depart as the days were counted for our entry to this world. A comical circle of shadows painted in a pattern of memories that will fade with time, forever.
“Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.”—Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
I wrote a short story about about a daughter following her mother’s final days on earth and how quickly the time elapsed. From one month, it turned to far less. How ironic is it that after writing this book nearly twenty years ago, I am living the nightmare? Continue reading
Posted in Books, Weekly Trail
Tagged books, caring, death, emotions, humour, mother, parents, sickness, stories, waiting, work, writing
It’s 12.43am and I’m ready to chat. Suppressed emotion and a need to let my inter self out is pressing this post into a dark place. Raw script ready to crawl across the subconscious and take notes from the recesses where the eyes watch but fear to participate because it’s not socially acceptable to hear the things they want to say. That innate fear of being rejected for the projecting exceptions from the politically correct. My subconscious talking and walking free.
Read on if you dare… Continue reading