The curious case of the cinnamon sticks

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

 

Nancy loved pottering about with Mum. Today they were planting flowers. Or they would once Mum found her garden tools.

“It’s as if they crawl off on their own.” she muttered to herself digging through piles of junk in their garden shed.

“Maybe the gnomes came to borrow them.” mused Nancy.

Mum mumbled something about gnomes and arses.

Cinnamon sticks poked out off one shelf, catching Nancy’s eye.

“See! The gnomes replace what they borrow with cinnamon sticks.”

“Flip! so this is where I stuffed these bloody cinnamon sticks. Maybe I should check the spice cupboard for my garden tools.”

100 words

My very first instinct was to write some grisly murder / thriller. Images of leaves, dried twigs and wintry scenes has this effect on me. I pushed myself to find something different, stretch my creative muscles a bit. Get the rusty cogwheels turning. There’s a bundle of twigs on the makeshift shelving that look like cinnamon sticks. (Left on image). And I went with that!

Hope you enjoy the break from my dark side. Anyone who is a busy parent juggling work (housework or career or both), fitness habits, hobbies, child-rearing will know that feeling of confusion upon discovering misplaced items. And I doubt that Mum will find her tools in the spice cupboard. That would be too easy.

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I put my heart into a bottle

I put my heart into a bottle

stuffed it away. Out of me. Out of sight.

I’d grown weary of it’s whispers

nagging me through my busy hours.

It was getting harder to focus on all I needed to,

on who I needed to be

with it’s tales of dreams and hopes long forgotten,

long abandoned at the fork in the road

way back when such things were still possible.

No, it can’t be. Can’t ever be. Wont be. Not for me.

Silly stories, silly heart

Time to grow up.

 

At the edge of the cliff I threw the bottle into the ocean

Watched as the tides carried it away

over the horizon.

That night as I slept, the whispers came louder still

Woke up in a cold sweat feeling the hole in my chest

Empty and void.

Yet tales of better tomorrows, hopes renewed

swirled all around me.

See I had not realised that I could abandon my heart

But my heart would never abandon me.

 

Not that kind of woman

 

 

Empty bed in the morning

Loneliness sleeps beside me in the space you left behind

Coffee and breakfast for one

Conversation echoes from memories playing like a movie in my mind

 

Sunlight streams through the window

Touching my skin but it leaves me cold and restless

because I keep wondering

How did I get here? Where did it all go wrong?

Throw my coffee down the drain

along

with all thoughts of you

 

I want to give up, call it a day

On this disappointment we call life

Is there someone that can help me?

Help me to get back up

But I’m not that kind of woman

Giving up is not something I’m good at

Maybe it’s enough to keep me going

Going in the dark

 

The nights are way too long

There ain’t enough movies to distract myself from calling you

Fall asleep to the sounds of Hollywood

I slept in your arms hearing you breathe, listening to every heartbeat

 

I want to run back to where I used to belong

Comfortable familiarity like a 90s sitcom

Let it be, I must move on,

better things ahead,

that’s where I belong

 

I wont give up, wont call it a day

On this disappointment we call life

Is there someone that can help me?

Help me to get back up

See I’m not that kind of woman

Giving up is not something I’m good at

Maybe it’s enough to keep me going

Going in the dark

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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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