“Here we are again.”
Yep, here we are again.
“What do you want to do?”
I dunno. The world is our oyster.
“We can do anything we want?”
Anything at all.
“Can we unbury you so you can hold my hand one more time?”
No. We can’t do that.
“I miss you.”
I miss you too, my love.
I can’t bear to abide by the rules of love. Why is it, for instance, insisted that love go both ways? Or that we must have met in the flesh? I can love you simply because I know you. I’ve heard your songs and I know you wrote them for me. They speak to my heart. They bare your soul to me, just as though you were here, on your knees, singing to me.
Why should I suppress my everlasting love for you? I shall lay down my life for you, if you ask.
You hear me, don’t you?
This piece of Stream of Consciousness fiction is part of SoCS. Click the link to read more posts, and join in, too! https://lindaghill.com/2016/12/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-1016/
He loved her secretly. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever met. Beautiful inside and out. But he had no choice; he couldn’t tell her, or anyone else. His step-mother would be against the match. And no wonder. For she was the daughter of his step-mother’s brother. Almost his cousin, but not quite.
One day, they’d run away together, he thought. When they were older. Maybe when they were teenagers.
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to read more posts, and see how you can join in: https://lindaghill.com/2016/11/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-2616/
“Are you ready for our chaotic day at the shops tomorrow, then?”
“It’s the ‘stores,’ luv. We’re in America now.”
“Oh, all right then. The ‘stores.’ Are we taking the lorry or the car?”
“We’re going to take the truck. We’d better if we’re going to buy a new bed.”
“Right then. Better get the shopping bags out of the boot of the car for the small stuff.”
…
“What’s that sigh for?”
“Nothing, me luv. Did you ask them to close off the lift when we get back?”
“Yes I did. And it’s the ‘elevator.'”
“Look! You’ve scorched the milk, Norman.”
“I’m sorry, Harriet my love. I don’t know what’s come over me today.”
“Do you think it’s got something to do with …you know?”
“It might, my love.”
“Oh, Norman. We did have a laugh though.”
“Hehe. Yes, yes we did.”
“Well then. What are we going to do with all this scorched milk?”
“Harriet, my love, why don’t you just pour it in the cat’s bowl? Give him a treat.”
“I s’pose I could, at that. We’ve had ours. Do you have any more of those pills left?”
“Harriet! You’re not thinking about that now, are you?”
“Why not? Let’s go scorch the sheets.”
“All right, then.”
Yes,
there are parts of you
I’d like to claw,
and yes,
there are parts
that I’d like
to caress.
Yes,
there are parts of you
I’d like to kiss
and yes,
there are parts
I just want
to breathe in.
Yes,
I would love
to make
you mine
and yes,
I know
we’ll never
say
yes.
there’s something purely distinct
about fire, isn’t there?
how it silkenly licks and caresses
its victim until
it no longer exists as it was
but it succumbs so gently
like a lover accepting
her very last kiss
unable to bring to memory
the one before
This poem was written in Stream of Consciousness. Click the link to join in the prompt, which this week is “mem”: https://lindaghill.com/2016/11/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-1216/
It was also prompted by the Daily Post. The word of the day, Flames.
i married a man
with cereal aisle psychosis
whom i can leave to ponder
this or that
or that or this
for half a day
and still wind up
with naught
but a bowl of milk
for breakfast
my question is
if the cereal aisle
is such a conundrum
how did he
choose me?
“I don’t wanna eat my vegetals,” said William as he dropped his spoon on the floor.
“William, you know what we talked about. You have to eat your vegetables or else you’re going to get sick,” said Mom.
“You eat vegetals all the time and you get sick sometimes.”
“That’s because I catch it off other people.”
William thought about that for a moment. “Mom, why do people throw vegetals?”
“People don’t throw them. They eat them.”
“But you said you catched vegetals from other people.”
Mom laughed, “Oh, no I catch colds from other people.”
“People throw colds?”
“Yes, William. Something like that, at least.”
“Why don’t you drop the colds like when you don’t catch a ball?”
“I wish it was that easy. Now eat your vegetables, please.”
“But I don’t wanna.”
“William. I told you eat your vegetables. William! Stop throwing your vegetables!”
“But they’re colds! Other people throw colds, why can’t I?”
“They’re not colds! They’re just cold because you’re taking so long to eat them!”
“They’re germy now. Aren’t colds germies?”
Mom sighed. “Yes, William. Yes they are.”
Linda G. Hill 