she held on to his hand. it was the first time someone held her. lovingly so. was this how it feels like to be touched? it was a strange feeling: being wanted, someone wanting to be close, someone this close. she became aware, all of a sudden, of the last three years he’d been at a distance, and wondered about that space. the space we put between ourselves and others. slowly and with every step up the stairs, one by one his fingers laced and intertwined hers. the space in between them becoming smaller and smaller. a breath with every inch of space they were closing in. he squeezed her hand. a reassuring, comforting, gentle force of skin on skin. human on human. breath on breath. he wanted to be close her, and she didn’t stop him. for the first time, maybe and only this time ever, she wanted someone who wanted her.
– an excerpt from the book i’m writing, a.m.
Write what disturbs you,
what you fear,
what have you not been willing to speak about.
Be willing to be split open.
– Natalie Goldberg
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Circle of Five.”
A writer once said, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” If this is true, which five people would you like to spend your time with?
He is my partner-in-crime. The one who gets the first wave of every significant experience that moves me. He makes me laugh all kinds of laugh: small and short, boisterous, and the internal kind. The one who I think of every time I come across something funny, strange, or both in the Internet–and consequently the one whose email address I automatically type when forwarding such funny and strange things. He catches my tears and buries them deep into the earth. He is the one who thinks I’m beautiful and who believes I can reach my dreams and beyond. My soulmate: the one, the love, I never saw coming.
He is my rock, the rock of our family. The one who is the best example of love and generosity and faith. His strength is unbelievable. The one who makes me worry every time I find myself driving, and he’s in the passenger seat looking for his health card. The one who moves my prayers into tears. The one whose advice I always seek. He always spoils movie and TV endings in an adorable and forgivable way. He is a quiet man, but his heart speaks volumes. The most patient and kind. The courage I hope to always have.
She is my other rock. The one who taught me how to read, how to write, and how to love. I owe her my life. She is the most beautiful woman in the world and the best storyteller. The one with the fiercest love. Her generosity goes beyond the material things. The most hard working. The best person to have coffee with in the morning. She loves the littlest things. The one with the toughest exterior but the softest heart. The woman I hope to become.
He knows everything about me, and he will always stand up for me no matter what. He is my most favourite artist. His silence is comfortable. The one who has seen me at my worst, and never once did he count or use it against me. My other best friend. The one I would die and kill for. He is the one I forgive and forgives me automatically. The one who cooks and is willing to actually cook. The one whose dreams are silent but big. His passion seeps out of his room during the quietest times of the day.
KT is an amalgamation of people, a specific group of people I see almost everyday of the week. We are quite a bunch of oddities, but we all have that one goal and that makes us a solid team. They are my friends and more: they are my brothers and sisters, not by blood but by faith. They keep me grounded and motivated. Each of them, a blessing. The ones who, when together, create and pass on a wave of faith and inspiration.
All five of them keep me fighting and living on every day.
I am honoured to be a part of your lives.
She was wearing a red shirt, sitting on the pavement, waiting for something.
“Hello,” I approach with a bit of courage.
She turned to me and said, “Oh hello there.” She smiled. My eyes went to the piece of paper glued to her shirt. A name tag that says: “Ex.”
“Ex? Are you someone’s ex girlfriend?” I thought it was strange to have that word on a name tag.
She laughed. A quiet but sincere kind.
“Oh. Ex. It stands for Explorer. But the marker ran out of ink. So I guess for now Ex it is.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“For my next Ex.”
And I understood what she meant.
Then a thought crossed my mind: “But wait, aren’t explorers always on their feet? Always on the go?”
She laughed again. A little loud this time, still the sincere kind.
“Sit beside me.”
“Now, a new Ex is happening.”
Hello, Red the Writer.
Thank you for being my 100th follower. I apologize for taking so long to deliver this promise. I hope you have wonderful journeys everyday: whether sitting on your chair or walking out of your door or dreaming on any space.
Thank you for taking the time reading and following my blog. I appreciate the small moments you lend as you read my words whether from visiting the page, WordPress newsfeed, or your email. Reading is a precious practice; and readers are precious people we all become through this work.
For your reading, much thanks.
I am so close, so so close, to my 100th follower, so I thought I’d do something different.
It’s not everyday I reach 100 followers. I have no agent. No marketing strategies in my pocket. No idea who to turn to after I finish this book I am working on.
100 followers. It means one hundred hearts beating, alive, reading, and reflecting.
To my 100th follower: I will write a poem or vignette for you. I will do this by perusing your blog and getting to know you through your written published words. I will leave my work on your comments section of your most recent post.
(If only I can write one poem for each follower, I would. But, yes, Life always finds its way in and seeps into that space between the door and the floor.)
I’m no Maya Angelou, Lang Leav, or Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
It will not be a breathtaking piece of writing, but know that I will spend my breaths as I put together words for you, lovely reader and follower.
To all: I appreciate each one of you. Thank you for your time, precious readers.