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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The magic within

get the InLinkz codeImage by GOROYBOY

They were coming! He tripped over roots and rocks and sliced his hands and knees.

In his mind he saw only his daughter. Would Little Ayla understand? He spent a lifetime locked in his cramped room writing books by oil lamps. And now those books were burned to ash, by the orders of the government who sought to punish him for disobedience and disruption. What did he know of disruption? He was a teacher not a warrior.

All he did was show his students their inner power. Revolution had sprung.

Panting, he thought it odd that even in this moment, he had inspiration. He would write and teach till his last breath. Dipping his finger in the blood that trickled from his slivered palm, he wrote on the sleeve of his robe.

A sharp pain pierced his shoulder, and when he reached towards it he pulled out an arrow. He could barely hear the sounds of horsemen approaching and as he fell his eyes rested on his own script on his sleeve, Love yourself.

174 words

The image was so evocative of magic and I’ve been reading about true self love as opposed to regular TLC. True self love is more difficult and life changing. And it is our own inner magic in a way. So this is where my mind took me when I saw this image. Thank you to Goroyboy for providing it for this week’s prompt!

Written for FFfAW (Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers).

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Innocence on snow

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

“What’s your favourite animal?” Clifford blew into his gloved hands and rubbed them together. He glanced at his step-daughter who skipped and hopped beside him. Each time her boots kicked up snow, she giggled. And something warm kindled inside him. He hoped she was warm enough.

“That’s easy. Unicorns.” She answered without skipping a beat.

“Unicorns? Izzy, they’re not real.” He bit his lip.

She stopped and bent to draw in the snow. “How do you know?”

“Well, I’ve never seen one.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not there.” A snowball hit him square in the face and Izzy skipped away, laughing.

100 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by talented author and artist, Rochelle. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other writers.

 

Thanks to Dale Rogerson for providing this week’s image prompt. Cosy and warm, despite the obvious cold weather. Personally, I hope Izzy always believes in the magic of unicorns.

 

The Antique Store

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall

 

“Do you believe in magic, Uncle Joe?” Little Farida asked as they strolled through an antique store.

“Black magic, maybe.” he mumbled, then pursed his lips and replied, “No, not really.”

Farida trailed her fingers on old trinkets, polished to a high sheen. Twenty years ago, his answer might have been different. The naivety of youth was magic in itself. Opportunities abounded, dreams were limitless and life never-ending. Then we grew up and traded magic for mortgages.

He watched his niece contemplate a row of coloured vases. “You know djinn live inside bottles?”

An enchanted smile lit up Farida’s face.

 

100 words

Sometimes when I feel jaded with the world, I wish I could go back to my teens. I’d do things differently. Take more chances for sure. The youth may be naive but in a way it is a blessing. It gives them the, admittedly blind, courage to take risks with a much bigger space to learn from mistakes. ( I hope I remember this when my daughter is a teenager!! I might take back my words!)

I added the black magic bit because in these parts of the world, the practice of and belief in it is widespread crossing different backgrounds and religions too.  A black magic conference voted Botswana as having the most powerful black magic in Africa. (Weird but true.) Me, personally, I don’t give it much thought – other than in my fiction writing.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leading author Rochelle. The challenge is to write a story with 100 words or less.

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