They didn’t speak of him. Not at all.
The king with the white mane.
A notch hanging off his ear.
Ridges gouged around his eyes.
He sat in the corner, silently. Watchfully. His tail swishing mindfully as the others ignored him. Steering clear of him, because of his odd color. His strange scars. Or, maybe, because of the way he seemed quiet. Daunting.
He was an anomaly, honestly. Something to marvel. To ponder. Something to observe, take in, and marvel.
And yet, there he was.
There, in the corner—away from all the others—he sat. Just the tiniest bit of sunlight shrinking in his eye.
The white lion. Continue reading “Waiting For Lions”
When I see the red smoke, I count the tendrils.
And, every time, the number is smaller. The smoke climbing higher. The days drawing closer.
They will come for me.
They will come for me.
And, when they do, I’ll be waiting.
I’ll be waiting. Continue reading “What The Smoke Says”
I had always believed myself to be irredeemable. A monster.
Fire is a destroyer.
I was only doing what I did best. The thing my skin and bones were formed to do.
Flames eating away the countryside. Dancing in and out of cottages, casting ash and shadows through the night. Bleeding burnt offerings into the sky.
I am a fire.
And I burn everything I touch.
I know it.
And they know it.
And you knew it, too.
Strangely enough, you were still the odd man out.
Because you didn’t care. Continue reading “Through Fire”
Space is a concept I’m familiar with. That I live with.
You don’t become an intergalactic juggernaut by staying at home. By being freaked out by space. By avoiding it.
But this was different.
It was something else.
That’s what it was.
And that’s what I wasn’t used to. Continue reading “Belying Space”
They say that you should watch out for love, because it’s fierce. Strong. Something unbreakable. Unbound. Love has no stopping point, it simply starts and goes.
And goes, and goes.
Love is like a wildfire. Once it breaks out, it makes its mark. Gathers everything into itself. It burns, and sustains, and moves. Aggressive, and fierce. Unending. Unyielding. A fire does not wish to be extinguished.
So be careful of love.
That’s what I’ve always heard.
Because fire is beautiful, and warm, but it is also fierce.
I find that the fiercest things are the most beautiful. The things I’m drawn to.
Things like you. Continue reading “Fierce Heart”
“I’ll be here.”
The words repeat themselves over and over in my mind. My legs move to stand, and they stop. The words are there.
I’ll be here.
Sit. Stand. Sit. Fidget. Keep sitting.
Don’t move a muscle.
The promise can’t be broken. I can’t be found a liar.
I’ll be here.
And I wait.
I’m here. Continue reading “Grim Awaits”
I’ve always wondered if it was selfish or smart.
To leave someone behind.
If you’re not loving them enough if you leave. Or, perhaps, you’re not loving yourself enough if you stay. Is it right to stay? Is it right to leave? One has to be better than the other, doesn’t it? One must be right, and the other must be wrong.
Is it wrong of a cheetah to run ahead of a turtle?
Is it wrong for an eagle to realize a rhino can’t keep pace?
Or is it wrong for them to not be patient? For them to not keep waiting?
I don’t know.
And I sorely wish that I did. Continue reading “Waiting Pains”
There is a sound that loss makes.
A sound that echoes.
It isn’t loud. Not at first. It rings quite gently, at first. You hear it loom over you, and then it repeats.
And over again.
And then, when it stops, you’re left with the sound. A hollow ringing. A broken sound. A sound of once-was.
That is the sound that loss makes.
Thick, heavy. A blanket that covers. A fog that consumes. A mist that conceals. One minute, you’re walking around, and then next, you’re not. You can’t. There’s nothing there to see anymore. Nowhere to go. How can you move forward if there’s nothing to move forward to?
That is the sound of loss.
And I know it well.
Which is why I know that the sound I hear now isn’t the same. It doesn’t equate to loss.
You’re still out there.
You’ll come back.
I know you will.
That’s why you sing. Continue reading “Moonsong”
“What if I forget?”
It’s not a question said calmly. It’s not whispered, not gentle. There is no soft edge.
The question is a knife.
It slices through the air, desperation bleeding from the open wound. It stings around the edges as the wound registers, as the pain becomes real. As the wound becomes solid, tangible.
It’s a solid wound. A steady one. One that, unfortunately, had to be placed.
But not for the reasons you’d imagine. Continue reading “Red Rivers and Flowing Strings”
Sleep is an enemy. An enemy of the weak.
I’ll admit that.
But, only to myself.
Other people don’t see it. They don’t know how weak I am. How I reject sleep. They think I’m hardworking, that I’m invincible. Unstoppable. Camera crews kill each other for shots of me, and interviewers plague my phone begging for just a second of my time.
They think I’m strong.
But I can’t sleep.
Not because I don’t want to–because I do. Like hell, I do. I’d give my soul for sound nap, and I’d give three lifetimes over for the chance of a full night of rest. But, deals with the devil weren’t my specialty.
So I don’t sleep.
I don’t sleep because I always dream.
I always dream. Continue reading “Weaks and Weeks Without Sleep”