He looked at her, tears falling from red-rimmed eyes. A rare sight indeed.
"I just didn't think it would come to this."
She bitterly turned her shoulder to face her body away from him.
"Yah, well, what did you really expect?" Her question lacked any intonation. "Did you actually think that something like this would happen and we would be able to just continue on with our normal lives?"
He gently grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back to face him square-on. Her eyes flashed with anger.
"Just look at me; I, I-"
His eyes spoke a story of confusion but nothing more could come out of his mouth. He probed her mind with hurt eyes, attempting to insert condolences and unsayable words anywhere they were accepted. Her harsh gaze faltered under his soft one, allowing him to enter effortlessly. Their communication began to flow freely through this intense glance; he had a way of pulling the true colors out of her. They stayed like that - staring - trying to right every wrong of this situation with intent concentration.
Her guard gone, she buried her head in his chest and clung to him tightly. The source of their grief blew up into a hot air balloon that pressed itself between their bodies, causing palpable ache. Her body shook in his arms as she finally allowed the inner sadness to emerge out of her eyes.
Eventually, the hot air balloon lifted off into the sky. She separated her body from his and searched his damp eyes for any final thoughts. She found a slight smile and knew that hot air balloons could only stay on land for so long.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Captivate II
Last time in this place
I reveled in captivation
I begged for it to leave
And in the dust now it's listened
If anything were to not be in a full circle
Can it someday be this?
Yet I imagine there will never fully be room
I must accept and learn to miss.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Once upon a wide open land
When exploring new places, I like to imagine my life as it would be had I grown up in that location. Sometimes I become annoyingly restless with my own allowance, however, if the place is of another time period, I am more likely to let my imagination flourish and less likely to dwell on pathetic life comparisons.
Today [yesterday] was such a time as this. My visit to Shelburne Farms in Vermont was like any ordinary trip to somewhere new (if something so beautiful could be considered ordinary), until a life folded out before me with one glance at a lone apple tree.
The tree stood in a forest clearing, the area vacated as if the maple trees purposely made way for the apples to flourish. The sun filtered through the surrounding trees, illuminating the leaves and fruit of the tree. It's long arms stretched out wide yet not too tall, providing a sort of shelter to anyone or anything that may find rest at its base.
I'm not sure why, but out of anything in this 3,000+ acre landscape, this is what made me stop and imagine my life as a wealthy young Vanderbuilt-Webb, "summering" on my lakefront Vermont property. This clearing was where I imagined a teenage Webb slipping off to on a sultry afternoon to meet up with her summer romance. I see the boy as a young fisherman's son, as poor as a beggar in comparison, yet rugged and strong from his days of hauling heavy fishing nets. They make arrangements to secretly meet under that apple tree as many days as they can during summer, knowing their parents would never allow this kind of correspondence to take place. The tree is the about a mile from the main house, perfectly close, yet just out of reach.
I imagine a red gingham blanket, laid out beneath them. The girl has spent an hour prepping to ensure that she looks beautiful for him. She brings whatever she can hastily gather from her family's indulgent kitchen and the boy hungrily eats as he tells her about his day on the sea. He smoothly shakes a branch with one hand and catches his prize with the other, handing the forbidden fruit in over-the-top manner to the girl. She blushes and accepts, and he kisses her crimson cheek. They explore the woods, imagining it as their private kingdom. Sometimes, they have to meet by moonlight because of his work. They leave food for the squirrels, splash around in the creeks, and dance during the showers of furious thunderstorms.
When her family must go home for the fall, they share a tearful goodbye with promises of return the following June. However, a busy year will pass and they will never meet again, for a summer fling can last longer than a summer. They have both moved on and forgotten.
Today [yesterday] was such a time as this. My visit to Shelburne Farms in Vermont was like any ordinary trip to somewhere new (if something so beautiful could be considered ordinary), until a life folded out before me with one glance at a lone apple tree.
The tree stood in a forest clearing, the area vacated as if the maple trees purposely made way for the apples to flourish. The sun filtered through the surrounding trees, illuminating the leaves and fruit of the tree. It's long arms stretched out wide yet not too tall, providing a sort of shelter to anyone or anything that may find rest at its base.
I'm not sure why, but out of anything in this 3,000+ acre landscape, this is what made me stop and imagine my life as a wealthy young Vanderbuilt-Webb, "summering" on my lakefront Vermont property. This clearing was where I imagined a teenage Webb slipping off to on a sultry afternoon to meet up with her summer romance. I see the boy as a young fisherman's son, as poor as a beggar in comparison, yet rugged and strong from his days of hauling heavy fishing nets. They make arrangements to secretly meet under that apple tree as many days as they can during summer, knowing their parents would never allow this kind of correspondence to take place. The tree is the about a mile from the main house, perfectly close, yet just out of reach.
I imagine a red gingham blanket, laid out beneath them. The girl has spent an hour prepping to ensure that she looks beautiful for him. She brings whatever she can hastily gather from her family's indulgent kitchen and the boy hungrily eats as he tells her about his day on the sea. He smoothly shakes a branch with one hand and catches his prize with the other, handing the forbidden fruit in over-the-top manner to the girl. She blushes and accepts, and he kisses her crimson cheek. They explore the woods, imagining it as their private kingdom. Sometimes, they have to meet by moonlight because of his work. They leave food for the squirrels, splash around in the creeks, and dance during the showers of furious thunderstorms.
When her family must go home for the fall, they share a tearful goodbye with promises of return the following June. However, a busy year will pass and they will never meet again, for a summer fling can last longer than a summer. They have both moved on and forgotten.
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