We love so many things, yet one of the things we love the most is beauty.
We see beautiful things and beautiful people. .
In a way we are jealous of that perfect symmetry, that astounding glow and sheer infatuation they provoke us.
But more than anything all we wish is to possess and translate that beauty to our minds and in our souls.
•the seat by the window part two• (requested)
He continued to take his drags, even let out a few mumbled curse words as she ashed her smoke out. Tied her hair up again and said, "You're more than welcome back inside." He wandered the streets for some time trying to find God shining a light on somebody so he may ask them for answers. That never happened. He'd look to his hands and how they weren't webbed against another, how alone he felt.
He returned to his seat by the window, placed his hands on the coffee mug and found a pen sitting there. Crossing out words on the newspaper trying to make a story out of what's already in print. He found the words of others and made his own.
I don't know where I stand with your heart. Am I at the beginning of loving you or at the finish line.
The article he was scratching words from was about a passionate athlete during their Olympic experience. Except he wasn't standing at a medal ceremony and this finish line he couldn't train for. More toast and more coffee hours went by.
The sunset came out and blanketed the sky in darkness. He felt more at home now than he did in his own. It was the diner where they first met. The first time he said, "I got this one." That wasn't all he wanted to take from that night. To his surprise the same napkin holder she wrote her phone number on turned to the new one he'd use to clean his hands from the crumbs.
It was that chance he never took. The number he never called. The smile he always remembered. The story he forgot to keep writing waiting for her to come back to that diner again. When he stepped away for a few minutes the waitress arrived and read his little blacked out newspaper story. She only had one thing to say in her head, "He only has himself to blame. Taking chances isn't for everyone. Taking them in your head gets you nowhere." She took away his bill and walked away.
He came back to a clean table. The newspaper, mug, plate, and pen were not there anymore but there was a note.
It read, "I usually take tips but this time I'm leaving you one. Call her. Tell her how you feel. I want to see you smile again. Don't come back here without her."
This piece is called "To Whom it May Concern," by me/Carolyn Glackin. It's borne out of my frustration over a matter that's been occurring on one of my Facebook writing pages (The Angel Scribe). A public page there has been sharing my work to their page and adding malicious, offensive diatribe to it, with the intention of launching some sort of personal attack at some as of yet unknown individual. Even though I'm not the one being directly targeted and attacked, I'm very unhappy that my work is being used for harmful purposes; which is rather odd too, when you consider the content/nature of my work. Meanwhile, there's nothing I can do to stop it, because we don't have the option to block people on public pages. Banning them only prevents them from commenting, but they can still see and share my work to their pages. So, until I decide what I want to do (which will involve peaceful actions only), my posting there has been put on hold.
All words: Copyright Carolyn Glackin 2018.
.R E A D ⬇️⬇️ B E L O W
God forbid a doubt
on this moment captured.
The sun is setting,
Lost among the purple & pink
Fluffs of wonder.
Is exactly what it is.
Silence the fear,
That something so captivating,
For these eyes have seen tragedy,
& this heart has felt disaster.
But my soul,
My soul feels this view.