Workshopping

As my Wednesdays go by, I keep my work flowing with workshops and to assure you I'm busy, here are some samples.

The water reflected a blazing fire of anger the sky radiated. Only the sky held the words she shouted but the sun was already disappearing meaning her words would die with the cloud cover. He stood behind her with his feet rooted in the soil but body swinging like loose teeth in a mouth of a six year old. The growing redder sun oozed into the earth around him while the dark clouds danced around her.

She would leave but she was hoping for a savior like the sun does everyday from falling but the more she stood, the more she understood she was melting away as the darkness overcame. She would run away and hide her rosy cheeks from seeming so foolish in believe he would really turn her around but no matter where see went, the ticking clock of indigo would follow and so would her words until they vanished in the purple peaks.

The sand under him was compressing –moving closer and closer to one another. Despite the wear they endured, they still remained hard molecules of something great –of a whole. And at that moment, he was broken. Broken down by her piercing words. He was no better than the sand he stood on. The whole he once had he broke. Now a simple molecule waiting for her whole to come back.

The peaks laughed at the two. As the holders of sanctity for both the fire of the sun and extractors of darkness, it was comical to watch the fire disappear and the darkness rain out of two people at their peaks. It was the comical pause a director put into a movie or shows to allow the audience to experience catharsis and then continue. But the sun continued ticking as the silence grew as the algae that polluted the lake covering every lively quality the two had suffocating them. The silence at their voices and tangled along them –trapped in a sea of words without any biting.

It was yet another Sunday and yet again I was crying. I am no superwoman who can meet the world –instead I hide. I hide with him at our park where we lay in the grass beside the water. He is the calmest of streams, nothing like the park rapids we visit. Sure he flared up in white waves of anger but I could always see the rocks underneath.

He was cold to the touch but once I settled in, it was nothing but silk wrapping around my ankles with his fish tickling my toes. Little ripples along the edges appeared once I whispered ‘I love you,” for the first time.

I was never one to say it first –it’s not my job. My job was to flare up like a wild fire. I was the booming thunder that towered over him pelting him with my words, damaging his sanctity. But for some reason, he absorbed it as if nothing ever happened.

That’s what I loved about him. When he squeezed my sweat-ridden palms never changing the curl in his smile. When he kissed my forehead even though I knew he was disappoint.

He was disappointed I never flared without him. What is fire without the rain to put it out?

Obviously my work is bias. This is dedicated to the one who makes me sane. I don't have the heart to insult him. It depends off of the mood he puts me in since I'm consumed with him. He defined perfection as bickering but still loving each other. And that's the least I can say about us because man, can I say I love him.