listening to this, has been up since 3 — now it is 5.
got to second crux point yesterday…
for some reason this is a novel about staying alive? Life/Death are major themes in this and so far unedited, not looking back to see because it’s fragmented but about love on some level so far…
I wanted to tell him that there were still hyacinths, that there would always be hyacinths because they were the poet’s flower, the gladness of the scent stirring everything in the soul.
I wanted to tell him that his flowers were keeping him alive in the darkness, as mine were keeping me alive.
I didn’t want to feel dead and neither did he.
Everything weighed down on us, the entire psyche of the nation, the years we had been striving to do the right thing and to be the right people. Our values were intact and yet all of it had fallen to shards at our feet.
It was cold on the eve of Spring. It was a matter of pressing forward down the road to the next thing, something that was going to be brighter. There was going to be love, and this would flower and no one could stop it. It was going to be like a beacon in the dark.
I knew that I wanted to make love with him. It was simple and pure and clean and whitewashed fresh like the clouds after rain in the sky above. It would be pure by the bonfire on the beach, it would transpire while the waves washed in and out and he was the only one. It was love formed and budding, full and foamy at the edge of something tasting of salt as we licked each other’s skin.
Our fingers interlaced, falling backwards, down upon the sand. He began tracing the curvature, a curative. I felt no fear in his arms, only solace as the light banked off the horizon.
His lips brushed mine.
A shiver passed between us, our bodies undulating in time with the breaking waves. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could stop the train that the two of us made pressing forward, the night birds crying along the reef, the sun dipping low in gold along the horizon. The fire he’d made glowed. Little licks and leaps of light and dancing sparks that spun heavenward.
Everything was falling and we fell against each other or into each other.
“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to be,” he said as he pulled me closer.
I knew that he meant it and so everything became relaxed and slow. He took one of my hands and put it to his lips, just brushing over the skin and it made me sigh and look up at the stars, and the sparks from the fire. I wanted to close my eyes but I wanted to keep looking at him, marveling at his face, the grey hairs along his chin. I felt it sandpapery against mine. He was nuzzling closer. It was my heart that opened like a flower might, the petals curling and reaching for the sunlight in his embrace.
The dead man’s letters no longer mattered. I realized they were part of the past and that the past could never be recaptured.
I told him that the fear had been too much. I whispered it against his chest.
I said that the gun was the only way out.
I had never felt like putting a gun to my temple before but it was that bad. The fear had closed in, had closed down, had closed off the surface routes to happiness. It would be easy to go and I knew that. Just to go.
“You can’t,” he said.
“You can’t do that.”
There was nothing left of the past I’d known. There was nothing left of elegance in the world or the country. It was all ugly. It was all dog eat dog.
Writing in this POV is very difficult! I need 3284 and just getting 1500 today is going to be a challenge. it’s also week three and the home stretch at this point just looking at the numbers to get to 50,000. I think when I look back it will be interesting to see where this all went or ended up.
Sound of Brubeck=sound of the tapping keys…
turns a fab corner for the reader as the cure is inserted…! xxoo!
“The past is dead,” he said.
“There is only the future to look forward to.”
“Did you ever feel like you might not make it?”
“Once I did.”
“How did you stay alive?”
“I looked for light as it glanced off leaves.”
“Then I turned that into abstractions.”
“Painting again saved me.”
I smiled and leaned back into his arms, letting him hold everything about me as closely as he could.
“It’s going to save you.”
He whispered against my ear. “Trust me, it will.”
“I never thought I’d be able to love again, after he died.”
“Love’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”
“It comes back around time after time if you let it.”
has 1050 at 10:30 eating a tangerine and some orange chocolate, exhausted! has made new wordle for today am just shy of 35,000 now, past the crux see pix of the wordle here…
onwards——————-> xxoo! exhaustion, but happy with direction….
2 thoughts on “Nanowrimo/22 “Dreamstime” tapping out whatever is there needs 3284 today… #amwriting”
Tangerine dreams. Isn’t sex often about life, death and the knife edge between?
roofingbird it has been ages!! hey thanks for stopping by, so exhaausted this pov is a killer, omg. HUGS!