**Caveat--- The following photo was this week's prompt for Bluebell Books' Short Story Slam... the piece that resulted was not what I originally intended. It's obvious the photo is meant to evoke feelings akin to warmth and happiness, and as much as I wanted to write a warm, happy piece, I could not. There is nothing typical about the ramblings, other than they belong to my typically rambling sub-conscious. I couldn't even make it a decent poem *sigh*
And, as I write this caveat, I'm seriously contemplating whether I should even post this....
Where there should be light, darkness settles.
Where there should be love, a pitted emptiness grows.
What I would give to hold you, what I would give to have known you.
Wrapped in blinding thickness, like cotton-wool stuffed between the ears,
the mind pads into oblivion,
bones rattling where there should be no sound.
Choking on the words offers no comfort,
if it were so simple, an end would be swiftly sought.
But, it's never so simple.
How long has the ache of your loss remained?
How many years counted?
There is a hollow in the pit of my soul. A hollow scratched out several years past when the fragile hold I had on the world was breaking. It was as if nature had divined that the scooping out of my soul was necessary so I would never forget.
Soul or no soul, I would never forget.
It isn’t easy to toss aside a piece of yourself and not feel something. It’s inconceivable that the world wouldn’t tilt dangerously to one side when you suddenly realized what you’d lost—even if the losing was not your own fault, even though you’ll never believe that it wasn’t your fault. Of course, it was your fault…no one else to blame.
What’s the saying about time healing wounds? I’ve known, since childhood, the idea of time healing was just another lie, force-fed to the suffering to “ease” their pain. Time doesn't heal anything. It might allow your body to grow accustomed to the pain, thereby lessening the effects of it, but it doesn’t heal it… the pain never really goes away. You can ignore it, dull it, numb it…but, it’s still there, waiting for the first sign that your guard is dropping. A tiny crack is all that’s necessary. A pin-prick hole in your shields and the pain will come bursting through like a heat-seeking missile, bent on destroying every ounce of warmth you’ve foolishly let in with the idea of moving on with your life.
The thing about hollows and pain, they’re malignant. They grow and fester, swallowing their way through your system until your entire person is consumed. The hollow in your soul, suddenly becomes the hollow in your heart, before becoming the hollow in your head—the hollow that defines your life.
Come take the breath of me. You’ve already taken the soul of me…