Poetry prompt: I’ve sort of been in a slump lately when it comes to writing and decided to ask my hubby to start giving me daily prompts. This is day 2… Road radio blues.
I keep track of all the days in between; the ones when you don’t say you love me. And during those days, my heart beats a little less enthusiastically, the sighs are a little longer, and my shoulders slump a little more. Sometimes the longing and the aching can be almost unbearable. But then I think back to all the times when those three little words were never spoken at all; all those years filled with such a lonely longing in my chest. I know I will never be in that place again because you always remind me of that with your steadfast presence every day. And when that realization hits me, that you’re not leaving me, I’m finally able to stop myself from falling, cradling my mind, and finding comfort in my own embrace. It’s in that nurtured state that I somehow find a way to let go of the demons which harbor my weary discontent. And eventually, that nagging feeling starts to evaporate, disintegrating bit by bit in every relaxing exhale, calming a little more in every deep breath. I’m never quite the same, though, as my own strength can never carry me all the way through. And so I wait patiently until you’re here again, reminding me that love is more than words. But because you know I need to hear it, you expose your stubborn soul to me, finally giving in to my neediness. And that’s when my heart explodes in reassured joy because your loving words mean everything to me. And even though I already know you love me, the reminder frees my soul and refuels my spirit.
I keep trying to forget the past. To leave all the hurts buried deep on that old, empty road. The place where I was deserted, left choking on remorse. But everybody wants answers, and nobody understands that I can’t breathe. And when I’m forced back on that road, I can’t heal or even catch my breath. The air over there is stifling. And so many broken dreams are still dangling in the wind. I can’t keep reaching out, grasping hopelessly at those lifeless strands. So please, I’m begging you, let’s just leave the past to live where it died. Or else this life won’t be worth living at all.
There it was That first spark Sputtering to life Like pixie dust fireflies Dancing round her head Her blushing brow Tattling the truth Neath the flicker Of a misty moon
Her Writing Haven 