A Coming Morn

    A day is coming that I won’t wake to pangs for you.  A day approaches in which I won’t think of you, what you did, what you are doing.  Everything that happened was your choice, was thought out and planned.  Every moment affection for you dies, each passing second I grow stronger.
    Such strength, surprising might, have I found.  A blossoming of social and emotional maturity I didn’t know I had.  People see it, they tell me they are proud, people I barely knew before.  I see a new life forming before me, and it is appealing, full of joy, success, and the love you never gave me.
    Still, I wonder of you, and your life.  I try and see a future for you not riddled with pain, with a lasting misery, but I cannot.  Your darkness comes from within.  It is a force you are unwilling to fight, a choice you are not likely to make.  For some reason you refuse to forge a better path for yourself, and it is why I finally let go.  I refuse to watch all the good become caked in grim and filth until it is unrecognizable.  I will try and remember you as you could have been, if you did as you should have.
    For me, I am so excited to explore this new comfort with myself.  I will fight and earn the respect denied me, I will strive to deserve the passion you withheld.  I will be amazing, because I will it.
    Will, such an important word that is outside your vocabulary.  So often you say “can’t” when you won’t.  A mistake, a self defeating thought that has been burned in my brain so fiercely I will never forget, ensuring I will never go there myself.
    Rise above, young man.  Steel yourself against the overflowing hatred of others, and radiate the love in you that attracted her in the beginning.  No more leeches, who take your strength and give you nothing back.  No more erasing yourself for anyone, no matter their potential.  Your brightness should amplify others, not be sacrificed for them.
    Lead, blaze the path others cannot see, and become a beacon in the night for all those who are struggling to find their own beauty.  Never again accept destruction into your heart.  Never again compromise anything you feel is securely right or true.
    Find the truth in you, and always let your words reflect your actions and heart.

A Knight's Vindication part i

    Rain poured on Jaren’s head.  The torrent was cold and heavy, and his head hung under the pressure.  He stared at the wooden platform on which he stood.  The water splashed against it, then rushed in any direction in it’s mad rush to reach the ground.
    Shaking the rain from his hair, Jaren looked up into the downpour.  The frigid drop stung his face and eyes, but as he maintained his resilient gaze, he felt a strange calm.  A great darkness raged above him, but he stood in bold defiance, unflinching to its blows.  As the wind whipped overheard, he watched the rain coil and snap like a sea of serpents, and he felt no fear.  His heart was cold and numb as his face, nothing could awaken him from his inner death.
    A man shouted, and Jaren dully rolled his head to watch him.  It was the Magistrate, speaking to the crowd below.  His voice was angry and intense, fists clenched and shaking against the rain.  Jaren struggled to focus, to hear what was being spoken.
    “...for crimes of impurity, and adultery against a knight of the court!  Such action is punishable by death, to be carried out by the sword immediately!”
    The Magistrate beckoned to the side of the platform, and a woman was dragged forth by two soldiers.  She was beautiful, despite her torn clothing and bruised features.  Rain soaked through her raven hair and into her robes, which in turn clung to her body, exposing her desirable figure.  Jaren looked her up and down, and when his eyes settled on her face, he realized she was staring back into his.  
    “Do you have any final words, whore?” The Magistrates voice spat hatred and resentment, but the woman straightened herself in response.  One guard pushed her forth on the platform.  She stood on the edge of the deck, staring out at the mass, deafened by their insults and jeers.  Jaren couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears on her face.
    She suddenly turned and ran for him.  Her body slammed against his, her arms wrapping tightly over his shoulders, she pulled her face to his ear.
    “I am so sorry, Jaren.  I love you, I have always loved you.  I don’t know what I have done, forgive me.”  The guards had grabbed her, attempting to rip her off of him.  She clung and clawed, trying to pull herself back to him, but her strength failed her, and she stared back at him as they hauled her to the execution block.
    “Maddy,” Jaren whispered his wife’s name as he stared back into her eyes.  A surge of heat pulsed in his body, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
    They turned her around and pressed her head against the block.  Leather cords were wrapped around her wrists and neck, holding her down.  Her body twisted and shook in futile attempts to return to her husband’s side.  The executioner stepped forth, sword drawn.
    “JAREN!  I LOVE YOU!  FORGIVE ME, I LO-” her scream ended as sword met flesh.
    “MADDY!”  Jaren’s face burned as the scream rung in his ears.  It took him several moments to realize the voice was his.  Like ice against sudden heat, he felt his insides snapping and shattering, and he fell forward, collapsing onto the boards.  
    He lifted his face, resting his chin against the planks beneath him.  In front of him lay his wife’s head, free of her body, staring again back at him.  He looked into her now lifeless eye, choking on a sob that had been seeking escape for days.  He shuddered as it violently freed itself.
    Within a moment, it was gone, and he spat bile from his mouth as he brought himself to his knees.  Looking again to his wife, his face reflected the dead calm of hers.
    “I forgive you.  I still love you.”

A writer's end

    Elias was at home, reading in his armchair, when his phone rang.  He dog eared the novel, set it down, and fished his phone out of his pocket.  The number was unknown to him, and he despised answering to a strangers call.  It was normally a wrong number, or someone calling to sell him something he had no interest in.  He considered letting it go to voicemail, but decided to answer.
    “This is Elias”, he greeted, with a tone of annoyance.
    “Elias, hello.  This is Thomas with Bravery Publishing, am I reaching you at a bad time.”
    “No, not at all”, his tone quickly changing to excitement.  “What can I do for you?”
    “Well, we are almost ready to print your novel.  I was just running through some final details and we seem to have misplaced your dedication.  I was hoping you could give it to me over the phone, and then everything should be in order.”
    “Oh, of course.  I would like it to read ‘To my former wife, Dia.  May you find your feet, and live as you deserve.’”
    “Alright, perfect.  I think we are good to go, then.”
    “Nothing else you need from me then?”
    “No, we should be able to start printing this week.  You should get your copy soon, and we will have them out to vendors before the end of the month.”
    Elias said his goodbyes, leaned back in his chair, and sighed deeply.  It had finally done it.  His entire life had been wrapped up in this novel for the past year, between writing, edits, and negotiating with the publisher, it had been exhausting.  Now, it was complete in every way, and everything he had ever hoped to say was going to be in print.
    He got up and walked into the den.  On the edge of the desk was a sealed letter, waiting to be sent.  Elias took it to the outgoing mailbox, stared at it for a moment, and dropped it in.  He stood there for a moment, as if this action had profound meaning, and he was letting it sink through him.  Then, he returned to his den.
    Opening the bottom desk drawer, he retrieved a revolver.  Turning about, he walked into the bathroom, and sat in the shower.  Laughter cracked free from his throat as a few tears began to work their way down his face.
    “Goodbye my dear, I still love you”, his whisper was heard by no one.  The tears and laughter stopped, and without expression, he cocked the hammer, pointed the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.

Thanksgiving

    As the day of thankfulness festivities commenced, I couldn’t help but feel anything but thankful.  I felt a total stranger in my own family.  I felt naked and exposed and there was but a single thought coursing through my mind.
    “Run”.
    I don’t want to be here anymore.  I don’t want to live in this house, I don’t want to see your things, I don’t want every last thing on this planet to remind me of you anymore.  I wish it was as easy as just turning off a switch, but love isn’t like that.  The hurt lingers, wounds take time to heal.  You have forsaken yourself more than you have forsaken me, and it gives me no comfort to see you on the path of destruction.  Indeed, it only causes me more pain.
    I turn away, I avoid looking toward you at all cost, but I know you all too well.  I don’t need to see it to know what you are doing, I never did.  I have always known things long before you told me.  I always saw right through you, perhaps deeper than you ever did.  There is a well, a spring of life, waiting to burst open and wash you clean, to bathe you in the beauty and wonder you are capable of.
    Will it ever happen, I don’t know.  I hope so, no matter how hard it will be for either of us.  For now, I can’t sit idle and rot, as I have been.  I chose the path back to you, but you have it barred and guarded, and so I can only move away.
    Personal dreams begin to awaken in me, and they are bittersweet.  My desires realized, but realized in solitude.  So many roadblocks and obstacles that were insurmountable before are trivial in the face of my emotional devastation.  Yet still the prize at the end of these trials seems dim and meaningless as well.
    Is this our fate?  Do we chip away at each other until we are too tired to live?  How can we love, trust, or smile again knowing what we now know?  How will I ever have faith that the earth won’t just fall out from beneath me again?
    What will become of us?  I guess only time will tell.  Have a wonderful life, Lover.

Vacation Memories

By the time I set foot in the bar, I had already forgotten what we had been fighting about, but it didn't matter.  My anger was real, and more about the choices she had been making than the words we had said.  I had left so not to say or do anything I would regret.
The man behind the bar was not familiar to me.  I had only been in this town a few days, but had been to this place nearly every night.  This new bartender was younger than the normal one, maybe thirty, and as he asked me what I wanted to drink I took notice of his accent.  British, I was pretty sure, though I was far from an expert on such matters.  I ordered a whiskey ginger, and set to what I had come for.
About two drinks in, two men came in and sat next to me.  They were older, probably fifty, and in thick German accents ordered beers.  The bartender brought them their beer, and asked them how long they had been in town, and they informed him that the had only just arrived.
I joined in the conversation.  Fairly out of character, but it was an active decision.  I wanted to be distracted from my own life, and drinking alone would certainly not achieve that.  We started with the basics, what we did for a living and such.  They both worked for an airline out of Munich, and proudly mentioned how it afforded them the ability to travel often.  I was honestly envious, globetrotting had more allure than ever to me now.
As we continued to talk, I continued to drink, at a rate far beyond normal for me.  They told me they were a couple, and had been together nearly a decade now.  I told them I was married, for just over three years now.  They asked where my wife was, and I speculated still in the hotel room.
Their curious looks begged the question, and so I answered.  I told them of our relationship, the beginning, body, and the now.  How only days ago I had discovered her infidelity, how I was desperate to save us, despite the affair, how I felt her still drifting away.
They were kind and consoling, told me that I seemed like a very nice and gentle man, and this other guy couldn't be better than me.  It was very sweet, to hear from strangers, but was of no real comfort.  Conversation drifted back to travel.  The countries they had visited, the people they had met.  It all began to blur, but it was nice to be captivated by something beyond my own drama.
We left the bar for a cigarette.  They told me I was young and should quit while I could as they lit their own.  I told them I had only just started smoking again, but that I would quit soon.  They said goodnight, and went up to the hotel.
I stood alone on the curb, leaning heavily against the trash can as the world swayed around me.  I lit another cigarette and smoked it in long, thoughtful drags.  I thought about the woman I married.  Beautiful and talented, scared and tormented, a creature I had always been drawn to, both the light and the dark.  I had thought we would burn away our demons with love and passion.  The very thought seemed ridiculous in this moment.  The thought of her with another man made me nauseous, or perhaps that was the alcohol.  I could barely see, and so I flicked my smoke into the street and made my way up the hotel stairs.
Everything twisted and contorted like a carnival fun house, and I clutched railings and walls all the way up to our room.  I went in, but my wife was not there.  As I lay down on the bed, all the emotion in me suddenly surged forth.  I bawled, like I had never bawled.  Cries of anger mixed painfully with sobs of sorrow, and my body shook out of control, quaking as I attempted to not split open.
Vomit rushed up my esophagus, and I willed my body to the bathroom, splattering the basin over and over.  I curled over the toilet for what felt like hours, splashing the water with tears, alcohol and acid.  Eventually, everything went dark.
My wife was in the doorway, asking me if I was ok.  I am not sure if I responded.  Somehow, I was back on the bed.  I rolled over and looked at her face.  I loved her so much, I would do anything for her to have not strayed.  I grabbed her by the waist and kissed her face, but she pushed me away.  I rolled over again and back to darkness.
I woke again, my face was wet with tears, she was gone.  I tried to get up to look for her, but everything was heavy.  Darkness took me back again.
They next morning she said I scared her.  I scared her, and she broke my heart.

Another talk

    I sat down across from her, that beauty I knew so well.  She had been crying, obvious by the smearing makeup, the telltale red ring.  Her face carried a strange look, a begging to be left alone.  I had known she did not want to be with me anymore, she had made it beyond clear.  Still I sat.
    She didn’t start the conversation.  Fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat, wanting things to get underway, but not wanting to be the one to do it.  The familiarity of this made me ill, but only slightly.  Everything I felt of late was only slightly.  We all have that point, where you have felt so much that you just can’t feel at all anymore.  I didn’t expect to be here again though.
    She still wasn’t talking, so I started.  I told her I was done being mad, and I was tired.  I was so far beyond normal exhaustion.  I hadn’t slept for so long, I was beginning to think I didn’t need to at all.  I told her I still loved her, but I was right on the edge.  I could go either way, with composure and conviction, but it was up to her to decide the path.  It takes two people trying to recover from something like this.  I didn’t think she had the fight in her.  I don’t know if she even wanted to have it.
    She said she was sorry.  How many times I had heard that, I had lost count.  She kept saying it though, over and over, as a fresh torrent erupted from her eyes.  I wanted to throw it back at her, I wanted her to explain why she could do something that she knew would cause such devastation, something she knew she would regret.  I didn’t, though.  I told her I wasn’t here for an apology, but rather to see if she wanted to seek redemption.
    I could see everything twisted up in her, the two halves of her soul, pulling back and forth, threatening to split her in two.  I knew she couldn’t decide, we had been here before.  Over and over we had danced around this topic, fight or flight, try or fly.  I told her I couldn’t keep sitting, inaction was eating me away, feelings of powerlessness eroded any sense of control in my own life.  Part of me despised her, and part despised myself, that I had again allowed someone so close, and again it had hurt me.  I rubbed my forehead, as if feeling scars upon my soul, layered upon each other, each larger than the last.  This new one, a gaping wound, injury beyond imagination.  My focus shifted back to her, that beautiful, sad face.  She was watching me, trying to guess what was coursing through my mind.
    She asked me if I hated her.  I told her no.  It was true, I was beyond hate now.  I didn’t even hate him anymore.  Part of my inner deadness, perhaps, though I would rather think it was a new enlightened maturity.  Probably not, but it was comforting to think I was still gaining strength, and not losing it.  I told her no matter what she did, I would always love and care for her, I just wouldn’t be around.
    There were more words, more tears, and we ended where we always did.  She needed more time, she wanted to figure out who she was, and what she wanted.  I nodded and told her that was a good idea, even though I wanted to tell her she already knew, and that she should just be honest with me.  I stepped out, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and held it.  I had quit years ago, she didn’t want to marry a smoker.  Now, she stepped out behind me and lit one of her own.  I smiled to myself.  Life is absurd, even when it made sense, it was always as horrid as it seemed right now.  
    She walked to her car, got in, and drove away.  I stayed on the street, lit another cigarette, and let feeling rush over me again.  It was drowning, just as it had felt before, but today I just didn’t feel like fighting it anymore.