Release

The darkness surrounding her seemed comfortable, relaxing, with one of her senses obscured from the current events. She needed these moments. She craved them, desired them, as well as feeling them within the silent moments of her day. Buttons, to be pressed. Feelings, to be experienced.

Her working week was now over, for the next couple of days, which meant that she’d headed straight for his arms. He didn’t say much. He didn’t express himself in the same ways, but what he did do, was write his name across every single inch of her body. He’d often state that he owned her body, some of her mind, and possibly a slice of her soul. She didn’t care, when the chemicals within started to mix. The spiral, the cascading need within simply asking for more. Much, much more.

She pushed aside the moments, the thoughts, moving them from her mind as her legs moved together. Her ankles, cuffed, connected, pointed straight up into the air. Bonded, roped to the ceiling. She knew that he enjoyed her legs. Strong, crafted from the many runs, the hours of exercise and, in all honesty, she’d prefer to show them in this setting instead of some fancy dress. This was raw, the realism being felt, instead of showed or wished for.

He could lie to her, he could say a million words, but instead he chose to use his touch as the method of communication. His fingers ran themselves slowly down the sides of her legs. Touching, feeling, expressing their need to be upon her, inside of her, doing what they were made for. She smiled, the blindfold still obscuring everything, as she felt the paddle gently slap the side of her exposed backside.

His hands found hers, as he slipped them into soft padded cuffs. He wanted her to feel and the more control he had over her body, resisting the glorious feeling, the more she would experience. Her world, the boring, the sedate, all factoring into the very reason that she needed to be here. She needed to feel, to be higher within her mind, which normal life would not allow. This wasn’t just sex, this wasn’t lust, as he vigorously needed to please her. She knew that he enjoyed every single inch of her body and, if she were honest, he probably knew those inches better than she herself did.

She groaned, head moving to the side, as he suddenly embraced her lips with his. Teasing, tasting her, his hands still gently moving along the sides of her legs. She imagined him, prone, his back arched, tasting her, experiencing everything she had upon the fancy display that he’d created from her body. He’d often say that she was a crafted work of precious art. Defined, styled, the curves and parts being exactly where they needed to be. Should be.

She loved this part. He knew, she knew, what came next. He told her how she should feel, finding exactly where, as well as what to do to her. He’d tease, he’d tease her until she wanted to damn well force him to obey her needs. She’d laugh, knowing exactly why he restrained her, but laughter was far from her mind as she felt the tip of his tongue slowly move up and down. He was cruel. He really, really was just so cruel to her. She wanted more, everything, right then, now, as soon as possible, while knowing that everything would come to those that waited.

She moaned ever so slightly, her head moving forward, as she felt his fingers find their given purpose within her. Her breathing started to escalate, with her bodily senses embracing every single rush. Each movement, each time he moved over and inside of her body, she allowed her mind to simply feel. He controlled every inch of her, as the rhythm increased its intensity. She knew that the teasing had ended, as his arm moved under her backside, moving her up and forward slightly. He searched with his lips, his tongue ensuring that the rhythm stayed exactly where it needed to be.

Each second, glorious. Each movement, edging her further and further towards her destination. Her hips started to move, no longer able to be contained and restrained by his bonds, as well as arm. Her mouth fell further open, the feelings reaching the very tip of her resistance as, slowly, she let all of her inhibitions free. Her legs tensed, her hands trying to find something to grasp, as she finally, thankfully, enjoyably, gave way to the moment.

The release. This release is what she needed and, frankly, would not have this any other way.

Click to Listen

Passion

This isn’t what you think it is. I know that you’re wondering what’s going on within my head, but it’s not what you believe. There’s no self-obsession, no cruel naivety, or the fakery present within so many things these days.

This isn’t what you believe it could be. I’ve no idea where we’re heading, let alone the direction, towards the various paths we’re venturing upon. Often. Always. Each time you breath you know what’s on the edge of my lips, and it’s not just a smile. It’s intense, alive and barely controllable.

This isn’t what you suppose it is. No guesses, no solutions, no question to be answered or even asked. Forget the words, close your lips or, at least, put them to some use other than to contemplate and comprehend whatever is happening. You are here for this, maybe that, with more of the other being preferred. I’m not the same as the others. Sorry, but that’s the truth.

This isn’t what you comprehend. There is no way to understand the things that come naturally. Go with it, do that dance, watch me prance around you like some type of silly fool. I wish to play and say all of the words that you’ve needed to hear. Open yourself, relax, let me in and be all that you can be. I know that you find some of my words evocative, but that’s okay, as long as you’re enjoying yourself.

This isn’t what you suggest with thoughts. It’s strong, barely controllable and filled with pure unadulterated emotion. It’s power shared, unless that’s not your thing. I don’t care. Top, to a storied tale, the tail of your world exposed. Follow me, let me take your hand, as I learn and then prune the idiotic notions from your life. We need enthusiasm to reach the place we’re hopefully heading, so let’s create some heated friction between us.

This isn’t what you insinuate with your longing eyes. There’s always a little bit of ego, pride, that sentiment between two people, that do what they really want to do. There’s an intensity that could burn into you. Exposed, reposed, leaning into the feeling of how your body simply wants to respond. I don’t care about why, who or whatever’s going on within your mind. It’s not about that. There’s a thin distance between lust and romance, with where we are, being somewhere in the middle. It’s not romance, as that’s the ideal of a pure situation, affection, holding hands and walking into the sunset together. It’s not lust, as that often gives way to the feeling of being used, unless mutually on the same page.

This isn’t what you need it to be. Your mind wants whatever it wants but, your needs, those needs, are all that really matter in this situation. Be it Friday, Monday, Wednesday or that sun day, when your body and emotions finally call.  Forget the word lust, as that is transitory, the moment, the quickening of a heart, but this is the longer game. I cannot look at you the way I do without feeling… something.
 

This isn’t why you think you’re here. I’m running out of words. No longer willing to type or speak the items you’re asking to hear. There are other ways to simply understand the moments. Two people need to speak, to be heard in their own way. You’ve been asleep for far, far too long. Wake up, embrace, hold and behold. Be held and beheld, the events around you. Lean back, do what you were made to do and explore all aspects of this adventure.

This isn’t what you think, what you believe, or what you suppose. It’s not to be comprehended, even if you do suggest or insinuate, as your need isn’t quite what you think. You can deduce all you like, try to figure out if there’s a scheme or a riddle to explore. It’s nothing like that. It’s nothing to do with those moments. This is about something in between, something that’s lacking in most of us. It’s needed, desired, revered and often spoken of within a different type of wording. This is, simply, all about passion.

Click to Listen

Timed

Sarah kicked the door’s frame a few times, her slight anxiety starting to rise within her body. Each day she lived the same life, the same routine, with an identical set of circumstances and resolutions. She loved the order, the stable platform that she’d had her life decisions placed upon, despite the caged reality being something quite, quite different.

Another few taps and she turned the egg timer, starting the rushed five minutes of her life. The next part. The episode of de-escalating time. As soon as the first grain of sand fell, she stepped forward, closing, then locking the door behind her. The keys found her pocket and as she moved towards the small wooden gate, she felt the adrenaline rise within. Her mind rushed that little bit faster, as she headed towards her next destination.

The bus stop, within a short walking distance, appeared within her view. She checked the small egg timer, which was carefully held upright in her left hand. She had time. Quite a lot of time. Easing her stride, she calmly approached the stop and, leaning against the post, exhaled the daily strife. Each day, the same. Each moment tested and measured.

Her thoughts, for a second, flew back to the moment when her Mother had first introduced the egg timer. Her Mother, being who she was, wanted order within her world. This, evidently, extended to Sarah’s life. Five minutes to clear her room. Five minutes to wash and dry the dishes. It did create an order to her life, as well as the unfortunate regimental practises to which she was now bonded. She simply could not function without order, unless she were being timed.

Her friends accepted her, the few that she had, realising that parents often inflicted such horrendous rules upon children but, to Sarah, this was as next to normal as she’d ever known. Her thoughts returned to the present as the bus arrived. Today the driver was Henry, a wonderful man who always nodded to say hello. She watched as three other people boarded the bus, until it was her turn to step forward. Showing her pass, smiling, she found a seat and rested.

As the bus moved along the street, the choices no longer hers to control, the decisive situation out of her hands, she looked at the small egg timer. It featured a plastic casing, with the usual clear plastic section, displaying its figure eight with moving sand. She’d watched the sand move, as a child, on many, many occasions. She’d smile, laugh, knowing that she’d beaten the time. The alternative didn’t bear mentioning as she, sadly, recalled the many, many bruises. Time could be her best friend or, upon a given day, her brutal enemy.

As the very blood within her body found calm, she looked up to see her stop appear in the distance. She smiled, knowing that the next test would be upon her. In a way, a very twisted way, she enjoyed the trial, despite her own mind chastising her if she didn’t accomplish even the smallest of her chosen tasks. If she were to start a task, it would be timed. If she were to venture out, it would be within a limited distance. Such was her world, her decisions and choices.

A person behind her pressed the buzzer to stop the bus and, as she stepped from the vehicle, she twisted the egg timer. Five more minutes to shop. Three hundred seconds to reach her target. She knew exactly what she needed, where to find them and the quickest route to take. She’d mastered her course of action over the many, many years. The process, which staff member that she would use, or throw away her time, in a certain way. Entering the store, she collected a basket and walked as fast as her legs would take her.

People would sometimes stare, wondering why a person was rushing so quickly, which would pass as it still all seemed perfectly normal.  She found the first item, her blood pumping as her heart rate raised itself to sustain her energy. She felt the anxiety press against her thoughts but, as long as everything went to plan, each visit would usually take less than three minutes. She knew that she was a slave to another’s processes and ideals. She knew that there could be a way to escape, but life was her exact life and each step, was ground into her very soul.

She reached each item at speed, her eyes flicking across the shelves just in case anything had been moved. She often found that the shelves would rotate but, thankfully, she’d memorised the monthly changes with ease. Her list, also within her thoughts, reduced as she placed each new item into the basket. Mentally ticking as she went, ensuring each step pushed her towards the place she needed to be.

She smiled, glancing at the egg timer, realising that she could possibly beat her best personal time. The rush within her increased, pushing aside any fear, as it also pressed away anxiety. As she monitored herself internally, she reached the self-payment section and started the process. The two gentlemen, serving that day, would waste far too much time. She placed the egg timer on top of the plastic next to the display and scanned, then packed, with the absolute perfection of a person that could fold Christmas Paper for a living. Each item, perfectly placed to ensure the optimum space. This was another of her Mother’s supposed gifts that was drummed into her thoughts.

She finished the packing, pleased, happy at the time, as she calmly pressed the card against the card reader. The beep of her card being accepted, as she checked the timer, made her legs flutter ever so slightly. Accomplished, succeeding, the thought of her Mother not admonishing her, sent her emotions into a flurry of happiness. She placed her card into her bag, as she picked up her shopping with her right hand, her left collecting the old egg timer.

She turned and, as her body moved, another customer nudged into her side. She watched as the near slow-motion event took place as her left hand moved forward, releasing the egg timer into the air. She screamed, watching, as the timer hit the floor and smashed to pieces. Sarah dropped her shopping, the shock and feelings hitting her all at once. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The timer, given to her by her Mother as a child, was timeless, her comfort blanket of sorts. She stepped forward, dropping to her knees, as she placed a hand onto the broken timer. Her mind emptied of all thought, the utter disbelief grasping at her sanity.

She half expected to be punished, her deep ingrained memories reminding her of what would come next. She waited a few seconds, in silence, as the rest of the world continued with the day. As the timed seconds escaped, nothing happened. There was no punishment. There was no bruise waiting for her. She stood, taking a step back, as she collected her shopping bag that thankfully hadn’t broken. Lost, adrift, not quite sure what to do, as she simply opted for the most defined of actions. She’d continue with her chosen task.

She walked from the store, slowly, not quite understanding the significance of what had just happened. Her mind, still blank, searched for answers, as she returned to the bus stop across from where she’d arrived.

The bus arrived, with the journey back to her home being one of complete silence. She felt nothing, no rush, no adrenaline, no racing heartbeat or any emotion at all. The moments escaped her, as she eventually reached her door. It opened with a quick twist of her key and, once inside, she calmly placed the shopping onto the kitchen table and then sat down.

She looked at the clock on the wall, not quite knowing which minute she’d arrived home. She looked at her hands, no longer shaking, as they often did, being cut adrift from her vice and safety net. She was finally free, after all of the years. She’d only ever, in all her life, owned one egg timer. She did not know what would happen next, today, or the next day. She felt calm, steady, as she stood from the chair. On a normal day, upon each day, she’d make herself a cup of tea. A timed cup of tea. Regulated, defined, the process being one of numbers and fine grains of sand.

Finally, today, as she smiled, she realised that time was no longer able to control her. No longer measured. No longer refined by the seconds. No longer controlled by the falling of sand. No longer timed.

Strong

There is something within the very core of all of us. Strength, survival, the very power to forge forward and do what needs to be done.

We deny, we trifle, whilst doodling our ideals and prospects into the very sand of our own beach. It’s transient, passing, the illusion that forces us to deny our very natures. We can stand tall, amongst the highest sculptures created by humanity, whilst being ground down to the very limit of our muscles and heart strings.

Strive, move, forge forward and evade all of the complications and escalations. There’s one path, one move upon the board of life, with those chess pieces being your very thoughts and feelings. Decide, flexing your cool ideology amongst the squadrons of people that adore you, as you also flounder amongst the scraps of life’s meaning.

You have the strength, the forward-thinking notions and emotions to overcome so much, if only you’d believe. You’re perfection mixed with the lines of life, thrust upon you by your own failings. You’re virtually watching yourself, learning, as the world hands each of us the very solutions we crave.

Rise, my friend, my comrade. Become, the fire and sustenance that we all crave. You are your own fuel. You are your own guide and shining light, within the darkness inflicted upon you by your very own soul. Move, dammit!  MOVE your damn soul into the fire of your heart strings. Play yourself, like the expert musician of words and meanings, that you know you can be.

I believe in you, I understand you, seeing you for everything you are and can be. I know you, feel you, appreciate you for anything and everything. You could be my hero, if I wasn’t so busy being just that for myself. You’re the guide that navigates the wind and the rain. You’re the silent voice that speaks volumes with the passing of a glance.

You are, what you are. You’ll always be this way as I feel your power. No room, no substance, can deny how you do what you do. You’re that magnificent coloured painting, that inspires and desires each and every single set of eyes, that look upon your words and emoticons.

Strong. That’s what you are. Strong. Even if you don’t believe it or see it, it’s there and one day, right now, yesterday and today, you’ll finally understand what my very atoms exclaim and proclaim.  You are… strong.

Click to Listen

Another

“Just going for a shower!”

Sandra watched his fine behind walk away, her wanton smile approving of the view that disappeared around the corner. Things were, finally, seemingly coming together. He wasn’t perfect, which no man would ever be, but he was fun, silly, not even remotely modest and looked ever so good with no clothes on.

Normally, she’d be used to a guy with a bit more weight around their waist, but if she could drink that wine, or the wine of a finer blend, then that’s what she would do. The music, playing in the background, jumped forward as her thoughts returned to the moment. This place, the vineyard somewhere South of Paris, simply enthused her. She had never felt as calm as she felt right at this moment, despite wanting to join him in the shower. She would, she should, but certain parts of her body needed a rest from the previous night’s adventures, as well as the morning frolics.

The wine glass, in front of her, featured a fine blend of whatever was the most luxurious, for that day, which were compliments of the owner. She had travelled, seen many, many places, with none really featuring the view in front of her eyes. Outside, through the open doors, she could see the vineyards, smell their grandeur and enjoy the opulence of such a place. This was, to her heart and soul, a home away from home.

Her thoughts returned to Edward, that man, the man currently winding his way into her heart. He was, more often than not, at the tip of her thoughts, or tongue, depending on the time, place and circumstance. He was adventurous, magnificent, the eyes of a man that had probably stolen, or taken, a hundred different hearts. It was his eyes, his stunningly dark eyes, that seemed to pull her closer to him each time he whispered his usual filth ridden words. She’d never felt so desired, wanted, with her own fire becoming her waking days as well as nights.

The way he walked, the way he held her hand in his, made her feel protected, special, despite needing neither of those feelings. He had a way about him, the words he used, almost scripted yet still appreciated, as they felt warm and earnest. She smiled, knowing very well that the words gave way to the places where his hands, lips and body, did all of the talking. He was a furnace of passion, devouring her in so many, many ways. She could hardly breath, at times, yet he embraced her needs as if they were his very own.

As her thoughts ran away into the fired nights, to the side of her, Edward’s watch beeped. She ignored the sound as she, instead, returned to how he did that very special thing with his lips. The watch beeped again. She turned, grabbing the device with annoyance. She didn’t know why he had to have his phone synched to his watch.  She looked at the device, which ideally wasn’t really even a watch, as it featured so many tricks and apps that she simply didn’t wish to understand. She watched as the screen switched on, displaying a new message.

‘do u remember that nite? xxx’

Her eyes widened, as her heart started to beat that little bit faster, her throat becoming heavy as the emotional lump appeared. She stared at the phone, her breathing becoming shallow, as yet another message appeared.

‘u did that thing with ur lips xxx’

She closed her eyes, knowing very well what this meant, how things would move forward. This wasn’t the first time in her life that this had happened. The sexting. The sharing of affection with another. She’d use other words, but the situation was already accepted. Another message appeared.

‘can u get away, tomorrow? Xxx’

She placed the watch back onto the same spot, beside her. She swallowed her emotions, fighting back the inevitable tears, knowing very well that some men would never, ever, commit to one Woman. They were like the finest wine, adored, wanted, wished for yet, so very, very unattainable. She stood, moving the chair away with the back of her legs, collecting her things to place them into her purse.

Her thoughts rampaged through her mind, as she grasped at some type of normality to return her to normal. She could leave her clothes, every single item, as they were bought by him. That man. The idiot that had proclaimed so much, yet offered her nothing but scolded dreams and idiotic notions of finding happiness in the arms of one person. She walked out of the folded doors, to the side of the building, towards the hire car. She double checked her purse for her passport and the decision was made. She could shout, she could scream, she should unleash her rage upon him, but nothing, no matter what was said or done, would change the situation. She would never, ever, give him the satisfaction of knowing why or how she had vanished.

She opened the car door, reaching into her purse for her phone. Swiping to the left, she opened the contacts and scrolled to the relevant letter, blocking his name. He was, from this moment forward, just ‘another’.

--

Daniel opened his eyes, feeling the heavy weight of his morning mind push the waking light away. He ran his hand over his face, knowing that it was time to finally get out of bed. His weary body, asking him to actually stretch before bed, or in the morning, reminded him that he wasn’t getting any younger. He smiled, reaching for the notepad beside him, knowing what was about to happen. From the very second his mind roused itself from sleep, he knew that new memories were on the way.

With the pen at the ready, he waited for the scenes to appear, waiting for the details, her face, her lips, her words and her actions to make themselves clear. He could see a vineyard, a beautiful setting, with a man called ‘Edward’. She was with him, Sandra, until he’d finished his shower. Daniel felt the man’s confusion, his loss, at losing such a woman without understanding why she had left. Daniel continued scribbling, writing down the last text message that Edward sent, which was, ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot meet on Thursday. I’ve finally found someone that I want to stay with. Sorry xx’

Daniel continued writing as much detail as he could immediately recall, onto the notepad. This was now the fourth person to appear within his memories. They were so vivid, with Daniel seemingly, almost, living their lives up until the point Sandra left them. Another month, another new person, with her beauty filling his mind. All of this baffled him, confused him, but he would, at least, eventually find the answer as to why this was happening.

He’d finally booked the appointment that he should have booked many, many months previous when all of this had started. He couldn’t fathom, understand, let alone find any reason as to why he kept seeing her through the yes of someone else.

--

Sandra looked out of the window, as the plane started to accelerate from the runway. She was on her way home, finally. She felt solemn, confined to the acceptance of her situation. As she leaned her head back onto the seat, she closed her eyes to relax. Immediately, thankfully, she finally accepted that she needed to sleep, especially after the recent events of her life. Her mind searched for thoughts, other than Edward, as a familiar image reached into her mind.

She’d seen him a few times, just out of focus, as she walked into a room that she’d never seen before. The light, behind him, meaning her eyes couldn’t focus upon his face. She did not know why she kept seeing him, or how, but she went with it. Anything was better than feeling the sadness within her soul. This was, either way, the end of another day.

--

“How do you explain it?” asked Daniel, running his hand through his hair, worried.

“I’d hardly call this the standard dissociative identity disorder, which can happen after a trauma or near-death experience.” Replied the gentleman sat across from him.

Daniel shook his head side to side, partly accepting the immediate response. This wasn’t normal, or standard. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him, let alone anyone else.

“Then why do I only recall their lives, their time with her, until their relationship ends?”

The expert shrugged his shoulders, realising that the situation required further study, which was firmly disconnected from his area of expertise. Daniel looked out of the large window, not quite understanding, yet somehow accepting that he had the lives and memories of other individuals within his own. Every second, meeting her, until the very day that they each left her. Each of them dated her, failed her, with the memories fading from that point forward.

One of the men, known as David, had lived a quiet life, not reaching out to many or living dangerously. Daniel felt sorry for the person, living such a quiet life, yet wondered why he felt anything at all for someone he’d never actually known. It was almost like standing beside someone over the term of a relationship. Start to finish, watching, knowing, feeling what they felt, yet still disconnected.

One of the lives within his mind, had lived an extravagant life, a full life with all of the parties, adventures and artefacts that money could buy. He had met Sandra upon a cruise, sailing from Island to Island, with the love and fire blinding the both of them to what they actually wanted from life. After the cruise that relationship faded quickly, until both seemingly stopped contacting each other.

The next life, he’d experienced upon waking, was the life of a kind man, a pious individual, that simply wished to be at peace with the world. Daniel surmised that this would have been at a time where Sandra wished to explore life, to find herself, with the eventual separation coming from a person changing and the other remaining the same. Neither broken, both happy. Then, Edward.

Daniel exhaled slowly, wondering when the next avalanche of memories would hit him. Over the last year, he’d grown to become a different person, a learned individual that could see the world through the eyes of many, many individuals. His outlook had become one formed within the grey area of understanding. Neither the black, or the white, meant much to him anymore.

“Have you ever wanted to meet Sandra?” asked the psychiatrist.

Daniel smiled, knowing very well that the answer could either be yes, or no. He’d never met her, never really known her, but he knew what her favourite colour was. He knew her dislikes, as well as her likes. He knew exactly where she loved to be touched, how she demanded to be needed, as well as how her heart ached to simply be loved. He’d seen her at the worst of times, the best, as well as the vacant moments of despair. He knew her. He actually loved her, yet, had never, ever, once met her.

Daniel nodded, “Not in person, but the others have! You might as well say that I’ve already met her.”

“Have you ever thought about finding her?”

Daniel’s face changed, as he looked down at the carpet, realising that he was actually afraid of doing just that. Meeting her. Finding her. Knowing her in person. He’d been rejected by her, lost from her, fading away and more. The love and loss, the fear built within a person, could not be denied by anyone. After a while, you gave up trying to be something, anything, with someone. The walls close in, the defences raised, growing weary, whilst simply wishing to be with one person. The right person, if such a person existed.

Daniel rested back onto the large leather chair, thinking, wondering what to do. He did want to find her, to know her in person, instead of the second-hand memories and random moments of someone else’s life.

“Okay, I would like to find her.” As he spoke the words, he felt fear rise within him. The moments of rejection, betrayal, inflicted and reflected through each of their memories rising within. He knew that he wasn’t any of them, with parts of all of them residing within his very thoughts, each individual telling their own story and life.

The man in front of Daniel smiled, knowing that some things had to be met head on.

“What if she were here now, in the other room?” the doctor replied.

Daniel felt his heart rate accelerate, the adrenaline pouring into his system, as so many thoughts started to appear within his mind. He allowed the thoughts time, a few seconds for his mind to rationalise what was happening until, finally, his emotions simply asked for the moment to be true. He nodded over and over again, “Okay. Okay. I’d like to meet her!”

The doctor pressed the button to the side of him, “Daisy, could you please ask Sandra to come in!”

“Yes Doctor!” replied the lady on the other end of the speaker.

A few seconds lapsed, as the door opened, with Sandra appearing immediately after. Sandra’s eyes tried to focus, the glaring light from the window taking her by surprise, as she immediately recognised this exact moment from her waking dreams. All of this was a confusing but, as his face and smile appeared to her eyes, her heart jumped a little in her chest as the butterflies suddenly appeared. He was, in ever single mention of the word, meant for her. She couldn’t understand why her emotions, mind and body all accepted the thought without reservation as she, instead, allowed the moment to simply be as it was. She had seen this moment over and over again.

“Daniel, meet Sandra.”

Sandra stood still, for a few seconds, before she reminded herself that it was rude to stare, “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“Nice to meet you, Sandra. I apparently, somehow, know a lot about you!”

Daniel looked at her. Really, really looked at her. Taking in her smile, the curves of her face, as well as her beautiful hair and searching eyes. He’d seen her each day for the last few years, within his mind and now that she was here, in front of him, his heart ached to simply hold her. He would run from the room, laugh as loud as he could at the madness of such a moment yet, he simply did not wish to do anything but be beside her.

Sandra smiled, “I also know so much about you!”

Daniel’s mild confusion appeared upon his face, as he glanced at the Doctor.

“Sandra?” he motioned, pushing her to say what she needed to say.

Sandra, playing with her fingers, looking mildly embarrassed with what she was about to say, eventually spoke.

“I… have been seeing you for a long time. Not so much as in my dreams, but thoughts. Each time I’d try to find someone, it seemed so right yet something was missing. Each person would come into my life and it would be amazing, yet they would just fade away. Another. Then another.”

Daniel listened, trying to understand what was being said. His mind raced, trying to find some type of conclusion for what was happening to him. To them. The doctor, scribbling words onto his paper pad, placed his pen beside him and leaned forward to address the both of them.

“There will always be some things that science cannot yet understand. I dare not hasten to any conclusion, but there is such a notion as ‘soul mates’. The mathematical chance of finding such a mate is probably impossible. A soul mate is a mirror of yourself, creating a bond that is emotional, physical, mental and possibly more. To me, the notion is staggeringly incomprehensible but, what the both of you have described upon your individual visits, leads me to no other conclusion.”

Daniel, still trying to understand the situation, tilted his head a little and simply said nothing. The confusion, spread across his face, was apparent to the others in the room.

“Daniel,” continued the doctor, “to be a person’s soul mate, you’d probably have to understand and appreciate a person perfectly. The complexities of each individual means that the chance of finding a perfectly compatible person is, more or less, impossible. You, on the other hand, have managed to be with, hence understand Sandra, multiple times.”

Daniel’s thoughts started to appreciate the words, to understand what was being said. He knew that unless people experienced as much life as possible, their understanding of the world, of people, for everything, could be stilted.  Understanding was part of his life, coming to terms with the other lives seemingly projected into his thoughts, the appreciation for what words he would use, could use, for any given circumstance within his life. He’d come to understand that life was delicate, precious, yet incredibly cruel as well as beautiful.

“So, what you’re trying to say is that I’m Sandra’s soul mate and,” Daniel looked at Sandra, “you, have been waiting for me for years?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. It is the only conclusion that makes any sense, other than the entire situation being something from a fictious story!” replied the Doctor.

Daniel nodded, finding everything quite bizarre, yet relaxing. He appreciated an answer to the situation, despite being one of lunacy. His gaze once again found Sandra. She was beautiful, absolutely breathtakingly stunning in person. He’d never, in his life, been so attracted to another person. Each second that passed, he felt the longing within him grow. It made no sense. It was utter madness to feel such a way for someone that he’d just met. I mattered not that he’d help her against him over and over again. It was of no consequence that he’d made love to her a hundred times yet, in his real life, he’d never even kissed her.

“I’ll give you both a few seconds to talk alone.”

The Doctor left the room and, finally, Sandra sat across from Daniel. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to find any words to say. She’d finally met the man that, literally, appeared within her mind at every single resting moment. It was all quite bizarre, crazy, silly, yet, strangely enough, comforting to finally be near him. He had a warmth that she’d never really known before and, despite the distance between them, she felt safe and relaxed.

Daniel, after all of the moments he’d shared with her, found himself to be slightly speechless. He knew that he had to say something, anything, but the events had seemingly overwhelmed him. His thoughts raced, as he felt his heart actually start to calm itself. He simply wished to kiss her, despite only being near her for less than a few minutes. He’d damn all of them, each of her previous acquaintances, for having the utter luxury of holding her hand, but it was now his time and moment. He giggled to himself.

“What?” Sandra asked.

“Oh, nothing much, I was just thinking about your favourite ice-cream. The one with nearly every single sprinkle and topping you could have!”

“What is my favourite ice-cream?”

“All of them. Any, as long as it’s messy!”

“Maybe it’s true then?”

“What’s true?”

“That you do actually know me?”

“I probably know too much.”

Sandra smiled, moving from the seat to kneel in front of Daniel. He looked into her eyes. He searched within them, trying to find something, anything and everything. She was everything. All things. All moments, right there in front of him. He reached forward, placing his fingers gently onto the side of her face, slowly running them across her skin, through her hair, around her ear and down the side of her neck.

“You know that I absolutely love what you just did!”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I did it!”

Sandra moved forward, her face in front of his, the face that she’d seen over and over again. Daniel smiled, as his hands found their place either side of her hips. After all of the moments, all of the memories forced upon his mind and emotions, the trials and tribulations of her life, she was here, in front of him. He slowly moved his head forwards, holding her gaze just in case she refused him, until the final moment their lips met. He closed his eyes, feeling her soft lips against his, each movement, drawing him closer to her and her closer to him. He moved her body closer to his, feeling her against him, the thoughts, dreams and moments all becoming real within both of their worlds.

The kiss faltered, as they both moved back slightly, their breath warm and heavy. Their smiles grew, as they returned to the kiss that they’d both started many, many moments before they’d even met. They both knew, understanding, that this was it. The everything. The all or nothing type of situation. The no going back. The second when and where they both realised that there would never, ever, be another.

--

(Ideally, this would be a six part TV series, with each episode featuring a new Man for Sandra. This story includes a possible ending to the series)

I know that there's a few mistakes. Apologies!

Mountain

Upon a godly given day, upon the moving of the sunshine into the provided scene, there exists two mountains that love each other. Each mountain, proud, pristine, the workings of the many years unfolding into the paths of life.

If you look closely, the paths look like scars, life lessons, upon the mighty scope of what you see before you. Each time, within every single day, each mountain has experienced so many, many emotions. They’ve both felt love, anguish, as well as loss walking upon them. Each path, each scribed destination remaining stoic. If you look closely, you can see the overgrown moments vanishing from life, from your view. They’re still there, forever, for another day, felt and furnished to define the workings of their lives.

There exists, somewhere, somehow, two mountains that wished to reach high into the sky. They towered, they bellowed, throwing their pain and suffering into the sky above as the very world shaped itself. They aspired, they dreamed, they settled upon their very form that has withstood the test of all times. No matter the footfall, the million and three footsteps, they still look upon their given surroundings with whatever emotion they can find.

Only me, only to you, they both look so majestic. Glorious. The highest highs. They are apart, forever, yet so very, very close. They’d hold hands, if they had such a function. They’d kiss, if they ever experienced the miracle of owning lips. They’d build a bridge, if they could just ask someone to make it for them.

They both exist, the two bastions of life and longing. So very far apart, yet together forever. That’s how I feel about each and every single person I know. We are all apart, we all have the capacity, emotion and bare-naked strength to overcome the division and distance. We are all mountains. We all love. We’re all so very far apart but we’re still standing tall. Climb me, climb each other, hold on, using each foot to reach the top of wherever we’re heading. There need not be a destination when the journey is the only moment that matters.

Upon a beautifully given day, upon the rising of the moon onto the presented scene, there still exists millions of mountains that love each other. Each mountain, amazing, perfectly broken, the memories of the many years making each of us… a mountain.

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Promise

There was a moment when and where I made a promise.

It was said with emotion, with worth, the weight behind the words being felt and realised.

I thought that I could keep that promise.

I wanted to keep the words and hold them against my heart like a shield.

I failed. I promised too much. I used words as frivolously as the air I breath.

A promise is a promise is a promise.

I’m human. I say things. I do other things. I speak words.

I broke my promise.

Please forgive me, I’m human. Please forgive me, promise?

Rose

The rose. That rose. The very notion that perfection could exist within one singular, solitary, moment in time. We’ve heard sonnets sung about the rose. A thousand rhymes and yet, we’ve forgotten the most precious rose of all.

Every single rose starts from the ground, growing, imagining, developing towards the given sunshine from the world. Without sunshine, without water, the rose can never, ever flourish. It withers, it grows old before its time, then passes away with the whispering thoughts forgotten within the wind.

The bud union, just above the stable, stoic, earth base, forms the strong platform from which to move into the world. The roots, already created, have taken form allowing the sprinkling showers to provide life, understanding and more. The cycle begins. It starts. It grows with time itself.

Each step of the process, critical. Each moment of time, essential. The leaflets start to appear upon the petiole, the stem starting to form, as the leaves collect the bright sunshine required to grow. The bond between sunshine, the sustenance, becoming closer than before. The Rose reaches upward, asking for more time, for understanding, to become everything that could possibly be.

One by one, over the given time, the leaflets may drop away, shaded by new leaflets, nothing more asked of them other than to release their burden upon reaching the sunshine. The act of love, the freely given sacrifice, knowingly accepted and undertaken.

The rose continues to reach, with prickles forming to fend away undesirables, as well as to clamber upon other flowers. It is not a want, but a need for sunshine, that pushes the rose to undertake such acts. The survival, the instinct, to produce and survive is bestowed upon all living things. The rose, the beautiful rose, should never be looked upon in any way other than beauty. It is doing, as intended.

The days move, they escape, as the stem appears to make the final break into the world. The rose is ready, willing, its very essence wishing itself to appear. The petals form, bunched together, until the safety surrounding them allows freedom to become their world. They bloom, they prosper, exposing their beauty to all that look upon them, asking for nothing but kindness, understanding and warmth. There will always be, until the end of time, insecurity within beauty.

As the moments expand, with the pistils asking for assistance, the ovaries within the peduncle await their given moment. The time may come, the moment may pass, with the fate of all notions hanging in the balance. Maybe, just maybe, this rose will find that moment to prosper, to bear fruit. The cycle of life simply being what it was always meant to be. Be it cruel, majestic, towering or the smallest moment imaginable. What is meant, will be.

Upon a day, within a spoken verse, the time may arrive for all things to wither, to slowly age, no matter the circumstance or dealings of life. The lessons, the learned responses, the drama and evocative memories mean as much as they do, as we all still follow a prescribed path. I am, me, this person writing this, aware of such events taking place every single second of the day. I will never be a rose. I cannot be a rose. I have not the thorns, the struggle, the weight of having to create petals or even roots to survive in the world.

I am a man. I am what will be and what was. I may wither, I will also die, but I’m the one that’s supposed to nurture, to hold, to guide and to assist such a rose. The flowers of life may grow on their own, even learn to stand above the tallest group of flowers, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not aware of what I am, or if I’m needed. I’m aware of what I’m supposed to do and what I’ve been made for. As a man, I’m here to protect that rose, even if it means being cut over and over again by the wildest moments, as well as the sharpest prickles, as that’s growth. That’s understanding.  It’s life, as well as being beside someone each and every single one of their days, through whatever storm threatens our roots together.

If I’m not supporting you, then I’m not needed. If I’m putting you down, then that’s what should happen to me. If I’m not bleeding when you feel pain, then my hand should not hold yours. If I’m not watering your ideals and providing sunshine to your petals, then surely the shade of my life would eventually destroy you.

Maybe we’re often so caught up in our own issues, that we forget that this is life. Our lives. We all have our purpose. We’re not all meant to be flowers, as there are always many ways to blossom within a field of solitary green. You are the rose, you’re beautiful, you’re an impressive work of nature and I, just me, will always be your man and know what that means.

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