I thrust out my hand,
Hold it over a flame.
As though it were a bad thing
To prefer fire
Over numbing ice.
I walk forward
Into an unknown,
Braving for once
To take a chance.
As though maturity meant
Being willing to stay
I come to the shore,
Fling away my clothes,
And walk unhindered into the waving waves.
I delve into the water,
For once fully alive:
Light entwined with darkness,
Life a play thing with death.
You sit dry on the shore
And wonder at my wanting to be cleansed of your
Well, friends, 2015 is coming to an end. I hope that its closing is going well for you and that 2016 will arrive even better. For me, 2015 was a very positive year, with a lot of growth and good change in most areas of my life, including my writing (as I mentioned in my Thanksgiving post).
I imagine you’re seeing many year-end lists at this point. I’ve always enjoyed those types of lists, so I thought I’d add to the bunch and make one of my own. I’ve chosen a few of my favorite posts I’ve made on this blog, and have added some comments to share with you why they are my favorites. And, since this is a blog greatly inspired by music, I’ve included a list of the albums I listened to the most this year (though they weren’t all released this year). I hope you enjoy.
Let me know about your lists, too. What were your favorite posts this year, from your own blog, this one, or someone else’s? What were your favorite songs/albums/bands? Let me know in the comments or through the “Contact” page.
Cheers to you in 2016!
She took his strength for oppression and packed her bags to leave. She took his silence for indifference and shut the door behind her.
He didn’t stand to follow. He didn’t speak to ask her to stay. He just sat in his chair, unmoving, and watched her go.
“30 years and it’s come to this,” she said to no one as she almost ran down the driveway. “It’s all come to nothing.”
There is a figure lurking by the window.
There is a mist scrolling in through the cracks in the wall.
I lie down and close my eyes.
There is a shuffling coming from behind the door.
There is a banging sounding from the ceiling.
I press my hands against my ears.
I feel cold against my skin.
I feel a shadow on my lips.
I flinch and try to move away, but I’m already on my back.
(Listen as you read for a fuller experience.)
I drift away from the shoreline, letting the tame waves draw me further and further away with each gentle rise and fall.
I am facing the shore and all I have left behind: the high buildings, the changing lights, the car horns and the blaring music, the people streaming over concrete, stopping on corners, briskly crossing the middle of streets.
I have left you there, in the city. You stayed ashore. I asked you to come with me, into the darkness of the cold of the water at night, but you stood still and waved your hand “good-bye.”
Now there’s more and more water and darkness growing between us. I see your form that’s been the light of my life grow smaller and smaller as I float away. I can see your steady, anchoring hand still waving.
I continue drifting and look away from your diminishing figure to the scene behind you. I am far from the shore now, but the buildings still look tall. The lights blend together but their reflection gleams in the water around me. I can’t distinguish the cars, but I can hear their horns, their rushing into the woven streets.
I don’t know what I will miss more, you or the city. In that skyline that meets definite, full streets below there was endless possibility. In your firm, faithful form there was everything I ever wanted. Would I again find endless possibility and everything I ever wanted if I swam back to you now? Maybe their existence fades as I float away, none of us never to return.