Tranquility of Feeling

She stood and gazed at the ocean with its crashing waves and rolling white caps.
What a beautiful scene.
What beautiful, thought provoking, inspiring place to be.
They seemed, to her, a metaphor for feeling.
Beautiful when gazed upon, and gently stirring in the shallows.
But dangerous and crushing in depth.
If you didn't get caught in the tumult, she supposed, and lived to make it out even father where depth became impossible to fathom, it might be beautiful again.
She surmised that underneath the torrent, if one could only hold their breath long enough, they might submerge to find the tranquility underneath the danger.

A Floating Ribbon

Wind whipped and picked her up, tossing her through the air.  

She lived for the feeling of being whisked through the wind.

She danced amid the clouds and twirled like a fallen leaf.

Every once in a while she would come down low enough to be caught by an innocent passer by.

They might tie her to their wrist and she would revel in the heat of their skin against her.

But the silken ribbon was slick and no amount of knots could keep her tied up for too long.

After minutes, days, weeks even, she would slip out and catch a breeze that shot her towards the sun.

She lived both among the living and among the clouds, never settling for long with one or the other.

Landing

He was like Ferdinand, frightful on the eyes and easy on the heart.

I didn't expect to feel so safe under his shadow.

But his kind words and his gentle hands brought me out of my cocoon of doubt and showed me hope.

He wasn't too soft, he didn't treat me like I was breakable.

And in that way, he helped me realize I wasn't as fragile as I thought.

He messed with my mind, my life, my hair.

He had a little touch in every aspect of my life.

My nose burned with the scent of his cologne, but the smell was pleasant.

It smelt like home.

I realized I felt safe with him beside me, teasing me, making me smile.

He knew when to be harsh, and honest.

But he knew when to be kind and quiet and give my heavy heart a reprieve.

It was like in one moment, in the breath of a second, as midnight slid into morning, I had found a rhythm and a home.

I was tired from constant flight, never stopping, and in the moonlight he looked to be the perfect place to land.

A Woman of Words

I am a woman of words.
I live to place one word after another.
I strive to make people feel, to make people connect, to make them feel like they aren't alone.

Words are all I care for.
They take up a massive space in my heart.
They make my world turn.

I am never at a loss for words.

I had an alarming realization tonight.

I will never know what to say to you.
I will never know if it is alright to speak.
I will never know what you want to hear.
I will never know when my voice is appropriate.
I will never know the right words for you.

For a woman living for words, you put me at a loss.
And nothing in my life is more terrifying than the thought of you and my precious words not being able to exist in the same space.

Writing Prompt

It was time.  She fought against it for to long.  She had been selfish for too long.  This was her one chance to help.  Her one shot at salvation for her family and everyone else.  Knotting her hair at the base of her neck, she painted on makeup like a war mask.  She slid thin arms into a burgundy jacket and zipped up her suit of armor.  The town was eerily silent as she trudged through the empty streets.  Her family would worry when they found her missing but surely they would thank her when they found out what she was doing.  Tomorrow, people would be passing the news along as gossip in the streets.  It would reach her sister's ear by mid morning and she would inevitably rush home to deposit the gems of information on their mother's ears.  And all the worry would subside.

She tried to convince herself of that scenario as the gleaming mansion came into view.  He was waiting in the window, watching her walk in the moonlight.  All the town thought him mysteriously handsome.  She thought him grotesque.  His square jaw and eternally squinting eyes screamed danger to her.

But here she was, walking up the steps to his home to offer him a compromise.  This had to save them.  That had been his ultimatum hadn't it?  He would protect the town with his army of humanoid soldiers if she trained him.  She knew, of course, there was more to his request then the simple desire to learn.  They way he leered at her made her skin crawl.  But she bolstered her courage and with a deep breath, gave the door one solid thump.  He had no idea how soon his lessons would start.

When the door swung inward to a dimly lit parlor with no one in sight, she was momentarily confused.  Taking a tentative step forward, she reached with her mind for his being; the power coveted by so many.

She couldn't sense him.  She couldn't sense anyone.  The moment she was inside, the door swung shut behind her.  So the myths were true.  His mansion was haunted, or magic, or rigged to look that way at least.

He was behind her, uncomfortably close before she could sense him.  That bothered her.  Before she showed surprise, she turned the tables, grabbing onto his consciousness and twisting hard.  His knees buckled and his tall countenance hit the stone floor.
"What?  Not ready for your first lesson?" she sneered.  He moaned on the floor and writhed in imaginary pain.
"Fight!  Fight back!"  She yelled, inching closer to him with every agonizing second.  He groaned loudly and tried to sit up but she sent a fire down his spine.  No stench of burned cloth floated up.  No smoke of burned skin.  But the man screamed with the pain of a thousand fires.  The familiar twisting in her chest began as she looked down at the tortured soul.

She removed the pain with a breath and leaving him sweating and panting, she walked away.

"Welcome home little tormentor."  He choked.
The comment caught her off guard and made her grimace.  She spit towards his face and stormed up the massive stairwell.

Once on the second floor, she realized she was lost.  Swearing under her breath she scanned the doorways for a sign of her new prison.

"Last door on the left."  a smooth, condescending voice breathed from a few feet away.  He wasn't too close as he had been many times before, and she could hear a touch of fear in his voice.  Ignoring him, she made her way slowly down the hall, coming to a stop at her new door.  It was closed, like all the secret horrors hidden away inside were too distasteful for prying eyes.  Her hand shook as she clasped the doorknob and turned.

This is Me Asking

All I ever wanted was for you to say we we were the same. To say we fit like puzzle pieces. To say we were destiny spun up in a whirlwind of hope and forever. 

All I ever hoped was for you to see me through the same haze of love and adoration through which I saw you. 

We fell apart a thousand times, and I always seemed to be left alone, picking up the broken pieces that sliced open my hands and my heart. 

Now, all the words I wanted reserved for my reverent ears only, have been spilled out to the world. I feel like I'm hanging on a string, perilously close to falling. Again. 

I was right though, about you. All your silence, all your darkness, all the issues running through you like blood in your veins. I was right. 

You sent an open invitation to over a thousand people. An invitation calling them to ask. To say. To tell. To hold you accountable for their confusion. And my fingers are itching to tear you apart. To beg for resolution. To ask for another chance. To demand you explain what you ever felt, if anything, for me. My heart is tearing at the seams, trying to pull itself from the hollow spot in my chest and race to you. But my brain is scrambling backwards, reeling, grappling for control. 

My biggest question, is how do I reconcile this tearing in my chest and aching in my head? How do I ask you all the things I want to know? How do I begin to explain my twisting, ever changing confusion that melds with my affection? 

I don't even know what to ask. I've waited so long for an open door, for a chance to get inside your heart and figure out what you were thinking. Now that it's here, I'm not sure I want to know. The hopeless romantic in me sings that this is fate, and your way of calling me home to your arms. The cynic in me is screaming it's a trap. 

My worst nightmare is that you'll say you never cared. That I was fun to play with but you've graduated to bigger, better toys. My worst nightmare is you not wanting me when all I want is you. 

I saw your darkness before you said it was there. I was willing to help you fight it off, for I have darkness of my own that I'm learning to tame. I say "I was" but I mean "I am". 

I am willing. I am still here. I am always going to want you. I am waiting for you to tell me you want me. I am waiting to hear that you saw this and knew I was speaking of you. I am here, ready, willing  and wanting to be yours. But you have to let me in.

You speak of being closed off, of having trust issues, but you can trust me. You can always trust me. Even if you don't want to. Because there will always be a space for you in my universe. It might orbit farther away and then come home to slam in my chest, but it will never disappear, it will never be filled. 

I'm floating out here, dangling above the world from a worn and weary thread. 

Please tell me it's safe to come down. 

Please tell me I'll find solid ground.