Thoughts of a dying dream

I was born with you, the day of your birth,

in your awakening

Out of those moments of joy bursting with light.

I stood by you, through years of your longing,

in your flagellation

Through those moments of pain echoing with the truth.

 

We have always been one, though you split us in two

Denied me, seeking fulfilment from others besides me.

Embarrassed, you walked away

I saw you look back eyes dark with regret.

You had no sense to know you could never forget.

 

Once in your mid-life, I sent you flowers, a fragrant bouquet

Hoping to remind you of what we had, and all the missed hours.

You read the note, threw it in the bin

Hid in the bedroom and found you could not hide from what was within.

That night, in the yellow of the porch light, you looked up at the stars

wondering, always wondering.

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And here we are, together still at the end of your life.

Yes I’m still here, beside you, within you

And I bloom in your chest, with a lot of regret.

You tell me you’re sorry, you don’t know what happened

I say nothing, just let you speak, hear your voice cracking.

 

The pain in your voice is much for me to bear.

I know I tried to tell you over the years

that for you to truly live, both of us need to have life.

 

But I will die with you, the world never knowing who I am

More tragic than this, is the self you hid from the world.

All I could do was show myself to you

Hoping you would find your courage.

Something you could never do.

 

Oh the life we could have lived!

The possibilities we could have explored!

 

It is harder for me still, to question my own existence

The dream that never could and never will,

be more than a thought in your head

A fledgling hope that never took flight.

Why was I here? It makes no sense.

 

Then I look in your eyes,

moments before the light in them goes out,

and I see the same questions stirring about.

 

****

Inspired by an article I read on the regrets of the dying. Unfulfilled dreams were one of the biggest regrets.

There is something about unfulfilled dreams, hopes and desires that cause us so much pain. Most of it seems to go against logic and reason and it takes courage to follow them.

Undeniably, dreams are a part of who we are. To fulfil them is to fulfil ourselves. To give them life, is to give us a life that feels authentic, and has a buzz to it that makes us feel very much alive.

Need a better title. It is a WIP. Suggestions welcome!

Here’s to your dreams 🙂

 

 

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Sunday lunch

 

She leaned back in the chair, the cold wrought iron pressing into her back. Through her grief a smile rose to her mouth. Countless Sunday lunches, warm garlic breads and ice cold lemonades. She could almost hear the chatter, the laughter ringing around the table. Young and old.

A hand touched her shoulder, she didn’t have to look to know it was her brother, Barry.

“C’mon sis, I’ll make you some tea. Let’s go inside.”

She stood up and took one last look at the chair where Dad always sat. Sunday lunch would not be the same without him.

99 words

Hooray! My picture was chosen for this week’s flash fiction, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! Thank you, group leader, Rochelle!!!!I took this picture while on holiday, and the lodge I was staying at had a sombre air about it. Later I heard from hotel the hotel staff that the father of the family-run business had just passed away. So naturally their story came to mind.

I apologise for not commenting  much on last week’s flash fiction. Life has thrown me major life changes which has given me the most confusing mix of incredible joy and sadness at the same time. I promise to double my efforts this week and read as many of this week’s posts as I can.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the most talented artist and writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog icon to read more awesome flash fiction by more great writers. Make coffee, sit back and enjoy 30 second stories.

 

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Meet me in the land of dreams

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

We sat in the gardens of an ancient ruins, side by side. Laughing with the ghost of my mother. She looked young like me, but felt older.  Behind us the shrubbery crawled over an abandoned castle, most of it gone. What stood was crumbling.  Above us thick green canopies shaded us.

“When will we meet again?” I asked her, taking note how black her hair was, without the strands of grey that sprouted when she was still with us.

She offered me only a knowing smile as her answer.

Of course. I wasn’t permitted to the knowledge of the unseen.

100 words

My mother passed away two years ago. Yet I never feel as if she is gone. I still feel her overbearing, sometimes annoying, presence with me. (This was really how our relationship was! No angelic talk here 🙂 )

And when I dream of her, it feels as if I’m really seeing her, and in the dream I’m aware she has passed on.

There have been many dreams of her. The year she died, she came into one of my dreams on the eve of my birthday and I hugged her in delight, knowing she was not with us.

The above story is part of one of the dreams I had of her, where there was an abandoned castle behind us.

Proudly written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by our leading writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less! Click the frog icon to read more flash fiction by other awesome writers.

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