I Loved Once

I loved once but grew weary of the underlying blame that the woes of the world belonged to me or my gender.


I loved once but grew weary of the underlying blame that the woes of the world belonged to me or my gender.  Weariness, my dear friend is not anger, no more than fantastic or wonderful is anything good or wholesome.

We came together too quickly he and I.  We moved toward love and intimacy at such a rate that consequence never left.  He was in my mind, still is.  I can still hear him call me, I feel his pull but I know in my soul he resists the very memory of me.

I don’t ponder him much – just on Fridays when I know he prays and I wonder how desperate he might be for a cigarette.  That makes me smile – the damn things.  I sit here in the far west and for the first time in my life am content.  I must someday thank him for the loss, for now I am less afraid of life, perhaps not afraid at all.

Do I sound enigmatic?  That is not my intention.  My intention is to tell you to love, love deeply and lose.

I have few friends but the ones I call friend are indeed so.  One sent me a message, a quote the other day; “what would you do if you were not afraid?”

The best answers in this age are questions.  That’s how we know we are lost, distorted, darkened. The world we know is not right.  The left is right and the right is always east.  I sit here in the west and think of him and her question to me.  Fear is a funny thing; it comes upon us in the middle.  Bravery is the answer to our hesitations and when attachment is too well formed, too perfect, fear takes over and eats away the foundation.  Top heavy and teetering we let the shambles go in a crash.

My crash was the making of me.  I am in no hurry and the shy hand who brings me deep red roses, with no words to tangle my mind, is the warmth I crave.  My hands and face will never be warmed, nor my body crave a passion that distance cannot defeat.  I sit here in the west and let the east keep.  I pray still and wait for the floods of antiquity to purge us again.

I seek high places and allow weakness to win.

Author: SK Woodiwiss and SW Woodiwiss

We are writers. We love flash fiction, short stories, poetry, and novels. We love to write ghost stories but have tried our hand at simple conversations, inner fears and peeked into the madness of the mind. Our greatest love is the novel and its ability to explore character development. We simply enjoy the writing process.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s