with this beautifully painted and perfectly made flute I profess my love to you oh, dear airy, light and mellow my poetry in music gracefully penetrating whistling and whispering my love, forever you will be, the lyrics to my songs the flawless melody to my music and as I slightly open my mouth to blow air into this instrument know that I have you in my thoughts, in my heart breathing the same air you breathe
oh, how I marveled at the blazing sun, its burning heat its cheerful radiant color they remind me of your eyes oh, your eyes, the day I met you, one morning, in a room so crowded there, I saw you, just like how a girl meets a boy in the movies, in the novels your eyes bear a beautiful story your eyes hold a burning fire for life your eyes support a wild phenomenal dream I have your eyes then etched into my heart, carved into my soul, engraved in my thoughts chiseled in every syllable inscribed in every verse of my poetry, of my prose your eyes your eyes my heart’s home my soul’s resting place your eyes your eyes my love
Today’s story is from my first book “After – Rain Skies” available via KOBO.COm
The thing about not giving back the pain you received, though, was, if you didn’t have a place to put it, you just carried it around with you.
Yasmin had nowhere to put all the guilt and paranoia she harbored by herself as a child growing up in a house where every day was a fight that felt like her fault, so she left it when she was 19, because she’d reached the limit of what pain she could carry and if she had to endure any more, the pressure would have ended her.
Her grandparents sent her to school, where she Yasmin harnessed her feelings and turned them into the motivation to survive. Constantly, she felt afraid that her father would come find her, and make her pay for ever believing she deserved a better life.
But the fear only made her run faster, and work harder, and aim to get as far away from where she used to be as possible. The fear propelled her to excellence. She got a bachelor’s degree, then a master’s, then a doctorate.
She suffered the occasional meltdown like everybody else, but lived to be 65, and successful, and carried within her the pride of having enough space in her heart to carry, beside the old pains, love and courage and integrity.
what is with your embrace that I long to have always? the kind of embrace, I, forever will be reminded of how love was born between our bleeding souls your embrace, was my first memory of how you held me tight, just as our love was new when words were not needed, to manifest love, to manifest you
what is with your embrace that I long to have always? the kind of embrace, I, forever will be grateful for for it warmed my heart when things were tough, and the world was rough your embrace, was my only escape, when life’s contrasting events hit me the hardest when words were not needed to manifest love to manifest you
what is with your embrace that I long to have always? the kind of embrace, I, tried to resist but it was so electrifying that I found myself passionately returning your affection I melted into your arms and welcomed your warm lips that sought mine when words were not needed to manifest love to manifest us
and the saddest part of loving is letting go letting go of you and of your memories so that you could fly freely, freely to where you are now, for in holding on, you carry my burden, my burden of not knowing, why, why you had to go
and the saddest part of loving is letting go letting go of what could have been, had I known, had I known your agony, your pain and, worst, your fear did you ever cry, cry hard enough to sleep or cry hard enough to forget?
and the saddest part of loving is letting go letting go of my own failure, failure to see the sadness behind your smiles, the pain in your eyes, the affliction in your stories and tell- tales, and above all my failure to simply stay beside you
and the saddest part of loving is letting go letting go of you, and of the thought that no matter what I do, no matter how much pain I feel, no matter how many times I cry in agony, you, have been taken from us permanently, for good and forever
the saddest part of loving is indeed letting go, but that won’t stop me from loving you
remember how we used to talk ’bout movies and love songs and happily -ever- after? you said romance is for the hopeless romantic, for the young, the careless and the carefeee I bet you were right, you were right ‘cos at forty -five, I’m the same; young, careless, carefree, hopeless romantic still crazy in love with you
remember how we used to talk ’bout our story our love story, you said it could be a beautiful plot for an original movie storyline pitch I bet you were right, your were right ‘cos at forty – five I still believe, ours is the best love story ever