Angels

At the beginning of the universe, as we have come to realise, there existed the Angels. They were described as being the most benevolent beings that ever existed. We know this, due to the stoic tablets that were found in the year twenty twenty-four.

They stood upon the very clouds above, majestically, fondly, watching the first moments of life appear upon our very planet. They’d already witnessed the growth of a billion stars, a hundred galaxies and more. Their joy, their glowing light, providing the splendorous growth to which we now fully understand.

They watched, they found our world foundering, faltering, failing to progress due to the missing element of souls. For everything, a balance. For all of us, a time. With each planet they had visited, they’d witnessed the emergence of intelligence along with the fascination to adapt and grow. Upon our world, they waited patiently. A thousand years, which was but the blinking of an eye. A second, lasting an eon. Their joy, their delight, outweighing such human notions of impatience or boredom. Such emotions, such words, were human in nature and thus did not even exist.

The Angels, flying with their wings, wished for our world to flourish, to become an abundance of prosperity, despite knowing that such an event may never take place. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Abaddon, sat upon the mightiest mountain conversing on how to fulfil this world’s intentions. All of them agreed, each of them accepting the same chose, apart from Abaddon. He, apart than the others, simply did not wish to abandon his life. He procrastinated, presenting many, many questions, until he accepted his fate.

Each Angel, each in turn, turned themselves into millions of precious atoms. Their lives, their intentions, seeding the world with their majesty and awareness. Humanity was formed. The human race appeared from the darkness, to embrace the light. From the very essence of each Angel, we were created to fulfil this planet’s majesty. We were to become the light.

Upon the day the Angels gave themselves, Abaddon held his anger within. His heart, tainted at having to extinguish his own soul, poisoned the human race with an ego, with the many segregated lines of life. Each new soul, trapped within a shell defined by external sources. Manipulated, tainted, but bestowed with the capacity to overcome such jaded views and understandings.

--

The professor closed the New Genesis book, partially ending the lesson for each of the interested individuals in front of him. He smiled, his entire life being lived with certain notions, with the understanding of events being broken, once the world understood humanities gifts. He walked from behind the table, to sit against the front edge, as he addressed all of them with his final words of the day.

“We all have the capacity to be an Angel and, when you really think about it, you cannot deny that statement. On the day of your birth, your parents looked at you in such a way that you could never, ever, be anything but an Angel.  This was what was intended for each of us. We can shine. We can virtually fly. We are not defined by the learned traits of our parents as we can change and adapt. We can seek understanding, within the closed environments of our world. We can become far more. It’s only the learned hatred and greed that taints our chances to do just that, to become real life Angels!”

See

Frank, moving the white stick left to right, slowly moved along the walkway. He’d walked along the same path for many, many years, with today being a special day. It was his birthday. Normally he’d have company, a family member or even a neighbour that would help him on his way, but today was a day when he simply wished to buy cakes for everyone at home.

He’d called a few days early, ensuring that there would be enough cakes upon the day, with today being that exact day. Ten eclairs, four iced doughnuts, as well as the delectable assortment of cream cakes. The stick continued to swipe left and right, searching for anything that might block his path. He wasn’t blind, as he still retained a small amount of sight from one eye. Tunnelled. A small, fine, reduced view of the world.

As he moved forward, thinking of which cake he’d gloriously devour, he felt a hand upon the side of his arm. He stopped, moving his head to the side, despite not being able to quickly focus upon whomever had stopped him, “Hello?” he asked, with surprise.

“Hey Mr. Thomas, It’s Francis from down the street. Can I walk with you?”

“Yes, you can young Man, yes you can!”

Frank did like Francis, as he was an upstanding, genuine sounding, young individual with his head strapped firmly to his shoulders. As they moved forward, Frank placed his hand onto Francis’ arm, allowing him to move forward that bit faster. Guided, trusting, happy for the assistance.

“Tell me, young man, what have you been up to?”

“I’ve been researching for my biomedical engineer’s exam. It’s been fun, but tiring!”

Frank smiled, finding the young man’s enthusiasm a breath of fresh air. He’d spoken to Francis on many occasions. A bright mind, a young mind, eager, willing, still seeing the world for what it could or even should be.

“Well, you keep on doing what you’re doing!”

They both stepped forward a few more steps, as Frank heard the silence between them. He wasn’t a backward person when moving forward, so simply engaged,

“Talk to me Francis. What would you like to ask?”

Francis felt awkward, but had been meaning to ask the question, sat within his mind, a few times. He couldn’t ignore the question, but needed to learn or even try to appreciate the possible answer from Frank.

“It’s an odd question, but how do you stay so upbeat and happy?  You never ask for a thing, yet you always want to help and offer words of wisdom!”

Frank laughed, lowering his head as he reflected upon the question. He could, probably, find a hundred different things to say, but instead he just let whatever sat within his mind appear from his mouth.

“Francis, you two options for the various things that happen to you in life. Ignorance or acceptance. My eyes left me when I was ten years old. I was a happy child, full of energy, just like you, but my sight wasn’t who I am or what I’ve become. I came to accept the situation for what it is. You can spend your entire life with sight, yet still be blind. You can hear everything around you, but still be deaf!”

Francis paused for a second, taking a few moments for his words to settle into the young Man’s mind.

 

“You will never be your religion. You will never be the colour of your skin or the sexuality that you state that you are, as you are the words you say and the thoughts that you think. Everything else is blinding you, deafening you to what your heart really wants. Every word, precious. Every action, worth something. Right or wrong. I lost my sight but gained an understanding. When you switch off the lights all that you have left is your sense of touch and the words people use. I decided to stay bright. I decided to light my own world.”

Francis, listening to each word, felt the emotion rise within him. He’d known full health, full ability, so couldn’t truly understand how the loss of sight would impact his life. Frank felt the emotion from the young man, as they both stopped.

“Francis. We adapt. We’re human beings. Take something from us and we will replace what’s missing with acceptance and understanding. Well,” Frank started to laugh as he finished the sentence, “Most will!”

They both continued to move forward, crossing the road towards the Bakery. Frank mussed over his thoughts, wondering what life would have been like if the events didn’t happen as they did. He didn’t regret any actions, any of his decisions, since that time.

“Thank you!” stated Francis, as the both of them stood in front of the store.

“That’s okay Francis. Remember, no matter what you see, or hear, the powers that be wish for you to be deaf, as well as blind, to the working ways. Ignore the media. Keep thinking for yourself and no matter how blind you think you are, listen to the words and watch their actions. Eventually, hopefully, you will always be able to see!  Take care young man.”

Francis squeezed Frank’s arm, nodding to himself, as he turned and walked away. Frank, smelling the sweet pastries inside the store, also turned to face the entrance. No matter what happened in his life, he didn’t need to see the cakes in front of him, as he could smell and imagine them just fine.

Lesson

“What would you say if I called all of you expendable cattle and idiots?

Two of the attendees looked at each other, mildly perturbed by suddenly being insulted.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you for being what you are, but that’s why you’re here as I’m going to teach the six of you a lesson. You want to know how the world works? I’m going to show you.”

Derek, moving a chair ever so slightly to face each of them, sat and crossed his legs. He’d seen this  room over a hundred times, enjoying each visit, each time watching as the attendants worked from their ever so subtle sleep. Their perfection, possibly, finally being freed. They were trapped, strangled, subdued by the constant barrage of media influence and corruption.

He looked at each of them, in turn, with the silence of the pristine room speaking volumes. Each participant, sheep, walking the very same steps as the many before them. Moderately self-obsessed, willing to conform and consume, as long as the world didn’t notice them. Derek smiled. Each candidate, actually wishing and wanting to be noticed, but each afraid to even remotely step forward in case their world turned against them.

They all had their designations. No names. No truths to be seen or thoughts concatenated to create any form or image. The first two, wearing business suits, were simply called number One and number Two. Uptight. Yet to relax and see the fun nature of being awake whether their lights were switched off or on. Then there was number three, the blonde, the beauty and probably brains, wishing to move forward and be all that she could be. Number four seemed defiant, the scowl giving away his instant dislike, his troublesome glare to be enjoyed over the next few minutes and, finally, Five and Six. The random creatures sending themselves forward to possibly find a solution to their life’s disadvantages.

Derek relaxed, his instant opinions for all of them settling into his thoughts. He wasn’t often wrong, if at all, whilst being obviously aware of such possibilities. This was life, his real actual life, where facts were needed before the fiction grabbed hold of his thoughts. He stood, walking over to the wall, only to turn and rest against it They all wanted to exist within the new ‘woke’ world that had suddenly appeared before them. Ten years, even five years, could make a person move from being within the limelight, to being left far, far behind.

He waved a hand and the auto-gesture feature sprung to life, showing the first slide upon the screen.

“Okay. What do we have here?”

Each participant stared at the screen. A single, solitary, blue square displayed in front of them. The words, ‘blue’ and ‘red’, appearing below the square. First to reply, were Five and Six. Their eager smiles betraying their innocence of what was to happen. One and Two, replied immediately after. Derek stared at Three, knowing that she wanted to answer with the correct reply, while being hesitant. She knew that something wasn’t quite right. Four, on the other hand, now fully relaxed, yawned a small yawn and replied with the word blue. Finally, after number Three looked at Four, Three replied with the answer of 'blue'.

Derek moved from the wall, satisfied, knowing exactly how this would now unfold.

“Okay. Correct. It is a blue square. Could you all now switch on the bands that we gave you when you arrived?”

In turn, each of them raised their arm and pressed the small red button that enabled the devices. Four, actually now responding, straightened himself in his chair. Derek, finally, knew that he had all of their attention.

“Okay, once again, what colour is the square?”

Each of them, in turn, replied with the correct answer. Blue.

“Wrong!”

Derek, placing his hand into his pocket, removed a small device with a button. He pressed the device and, immediately, each candidate received a small shock. All six of the candidates literally jumped out of their skin, not even remotely expecting the result from their answer.

“Let’s try this again. What colour is the square?  I can answer for you. It’s red!”

Number One and Two looked at each other, smiling, as they both replied with the answer of ‘red’. Their smirk, written all over their faces, quickly fuelled Five and Six to reply with the same answer. Three, once again looked at Four for a possible reply. Four shook his head slightly, willing her not to give in. “Red!” she replied, to the disappointment of Four. Each of them, including Derek, stared at Four. The last to answer, the defiant one amongst them, not willing to engage with the natural order of things.

“It’s blue!” Four replied, with defiance.

“Wrong!” replied Derek, pressing the button.

Once again, all six of them received the shock and, as the effects faded, One and Two glanced at Four.

“Let’s try again. The answer is ‘Red’!”

Derek listened to their replies, all of them falling in line, apart from Four. He leaned forward, smiling.

“The answer is Blue. It will always be Blue!”

Derek, laughing slightly, turned and moved to the display.

“This is and always will be, red. It is red because I’ve said it’s red and that is your new way of thinking. You will not resist, and you will be fucking listen!”

Derek, his aggression now apparent and written across his face, walked from the screen right up to number Four. Leaning in, placing his face in front of Four’s face, he asked the question again.

“What colour is the square?”

Four, feeling the aggression and through gritted teeth, replied.

“It is Blue!”

Derek pressed the button with all six, again, receiving the shock. Derek returned to his chair, listening, as Three asked Four to correctly answer the damn question.

“Come on man,” asked Five, “just say ‘red’!”

“No. It’s BLUE!”

Another shock hit the six of them.

“It… is… BLUE!”

Another shock.

The other five participants, all facing Four, echoed their dissatisfaction with Four’s answer.

“Please, just say red and we can move on!”

Four, looked at each of them, as another shock hit his wrist.  He closed his eyes and whispered to himself, “It’s blue,” but then raised his voice, “but it’s now red!”

Derek, finally happy with the result, once again stood from his chair, slowly clapping his hands.

“Well done. Finally. This is how life works. You all, every single one of you, eventually conform and fall in line to the way things work and function. Only ‘Four’ could see the correct illogical answer. You think that you stand together, but in reality, you are all apart and controlled by the very media you trust. The more you read, the more you obey and fit into the hatred and idiocy of life!”

Derek smiled, the message firmly settling into each of the candidate’s minds and realisation.

“You see, you think you have a choice, but even if you see the world for what it is, you will be labelled with many, many offending labels. Weird. Odd. Idiot. The world is a messed up, jumbled, quagmire of desolate greed and solitude. Do not believe what you are being told. Find the facts. Find the answers, even when you’re being blatantly told that the blue square, right in front of your very eyes, is red!”

Derek paused, for dramatic effect, watching each of them sitting silently, perfectly still.

“Well done Four and somewhat Five. You could see that there was something wrong with the answer. One, Two, Five and Six… you need to attend next week’s session, as you’re not children and won’t ever receive a fucking Gold star for being the first to reply with the wrong answer!”

The session, over with, the moment, explained.

“Thank you for attending. The lesson is over.”

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.

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