Garden of Love
Short Short Story
Until one day, I was abandoned with nothing but dried roots and unbearable grief. He fooled me into believing he would always return to feed my soul and instead made me question my existence. He betrayed me and ever since then, I have been left wondering if he’ll ever return to the garden he left vacant in my heart. Because I don’t know how to let go and I don’t know if I’ll ever want to.”
She looked at me, saddened by my response, and said,
“He may have given you a reason to push forward in the past, but he is not why you are still alive today. Your reason to live has always lied within you.
He did not take it with him, you just forgot what it was like to breathe on your own..
to grow, on your own.. love, on your own.
Rip out those dead roots and replant your own beautiful garden.
Shower it with love, gratitude, and acceptance every day.
Love yourself so deeply and let the love you harvest be your light.
Feed your soul with that light. And eventually, with time,
you will let go of what was and accept what is.”
*May is Mental Health Awareness month. If you, or anyone you may know, might be struggling with a mental illness, please remember to be kind to yourself and others. And remember, you are not alone.
Short Short Story
I watched him stare in utter appreciation and bliss. His stature was picturesque. It complimented the Mark Rothko, which lie horizontal along his gaze. I admired his simplicity, it made him seem ordinary from a far. When in fact he was far from it. He sat alone in silence on a bench in the middle of the exhibit. His shoulders, slightly slouched. Face, opposing mine. I imagined a gentle smile upon his lips.
When in silence, he was the most neutral. A very concentrated human being. Our similarities kept me close, differences kept me distant. And yet, close enough to keep my curiosity at bay. There were just as many moments of certainty as there were of confusion while we were together. However, nothing felt more right than the energy we shared while admiring art.
I approached his side and took a seat beside him. He glanced over to me and his smile, as I imagined it, swiftly reshaped itself into an ear to ear grin. One that gradually settled back into place after I had made my presence known. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to. Our energies spoke for themselves. His energy was a force field that was kept tame. But in the moments that he allowed his spirit to break free, it was exhilarating. The electricity that jolted through me in our times of pure joy invoked this warmth inside of me that was like no other.
Most of the time, I was dying to know what he was thinking. How he was feeling. If he’d push himself beyond his limits and tap into what I really wanted; For him to take control.
Drifting into lust, I swear, I could feel his heartbeat. Could feel it traveling beneath me, up my thighs to my chest. What felt like minutes had passed was really an hour, and still we sat in silence. One by one, the room filtered through different eyes. As the time slipped away and day grew shorter, we found ourselves alone.
Closing time already? I wondered as I raised from my seat. My body felt stiff so I began to stretch while walking up to one of the paintings. It was so quiet, all you could hear were the bottoms of my boots creating friction upon the glossy wooden floor. Standing two feet away from the wall, I inspected Mr. Rothko’s brush lines.
From behind me, his presence grew stronger. Until his body was parallel to my own. Suddenly I felt his fingertips brushing along my neck and guiding my hair over to the opposite side. A chill shot through my spine as goosebumps regenerated that feeling of desire. He stepped a couple inches closer. I could hear his quiet breath. And then, I could feel it.
His lips pressed against my skin. Gently kissing his way up underneath my jaw line until our bodies were one. His right hand now cradled my face and turned my lips to match his while his left made its way from my hips to between my legs. The kiss was soft at first. Every time our lips separated it was as if they were magnets, forced to meet again. Shifting my body towards him now, our lips collided firmly. With his left hand he laced his fingertips through my hair while his palm pushed me closer. The right drifted down the small of my back.
“Luna” he managed to say my name between a kiss.
“Yeah” I moaned.
“Are you ok?” My eyes opened to find our bodies weren’t actually touching as he stood a foot in front of me.
His grin was back as he stared at me with immense interest and slight concern.
My cheeks felt flush and throat a little heavy, I quickly dropped my chin to my chest and looked at my shoes as I laughed.
“Yes. I’m fine. Was just.. thinking.”
“I could see that” his grin turned to a smirk.
Stepping an inch closer he guided my chin up so that our eyes could meet.
His thumb gently grazed my bottom lip as I watched his eyes travel from my own, to my lips, and then back up again. He leaned in for a kiss and then pulled away.
I wanted him to push me up against the wall.
Had the deepest urge to take control, since he refused to take advantage.
A true gentleman in his mannerisms, but in his eyes, I could see a beast. Dark and mysterious with a hunger for flesh and passion. Something we both shared.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
My body was still pulsing.
Mama, Just Killed A Man
Short Short Story
“You love him too much”, she voiced in concern.
I did love you too much.
“If he hurts you, I'll kill him”, her lips pursed.
I laughed, I didn’t want to imagine this.
With each beautiful touch, I believed him.
I believed he wouldn’t dare.
Why would he want to?
He treated me like a Queen.
Oh, but she was right.
I went from his everything, to nothing
in the midst of a fist that I had thrown while drowning in his lies.
How dare he.
How could he?
I hated him.
I hated him for disrespecting the one thing I asked for: Honesty.
I hated him for being almost perfect and something that I had never experienced. Something that I grew to believe I couldn’t live without.
I hated him for his differences that made me fall so deeply into his arms to the point where I didn’t know how to not be within his embrace.
I hated him for abandoning me when he promised he wouldn’t.
I loved you too much.
I loved you more than I loved myself.
And that was my first problem.
So yes, I loved you. I hated you.