All Apologies

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we don’t seem to get along right now.

I’m sorry my expectations are too high.

I’m sorry if the words that I choose are frustrating and annoying to you.

It was never my intention to cause more harm than good.

But it seems I have been totally wrong.

Wrong about how I view the world.

Wrong about how I interact with it.

Wrong about how I feel.

Wrong to say so.

I’m sorry.

I guess maybe the trick is to not be so inflexible.

Sure, we are all raised, and/or grow up with a certain catalogue of values we try to live by. But it’s usually the accepted practice to let things slide a bit, when it comes to family.

We give leeway. We oblige. We shrug our shoulders and shake our heads, chuckling quietly to ourselves.

Because it’s different with family. We should allow them to let us down, or rail against us with abandon, and let it go because we are blood.

After all, it’s only what we believe in. It only really matters when we show it to other people. We don’t actually have to live by our beliefs or anything.

Our families deserve a bypass on the tough calls.

That’s just the way it is.


I’m sorry.

The world is a blur, and I shall mourn its passing

This was posted as part of a Word Prompts challenge on Reddit.

The words stared back from the page, haunting Derek like a broken promise. He often found himself here lately, hidden well back from the store front, lost amongst these dusty, forgotton tomes. Late afternoon sunlight bounced off the windows across the street, stirring up bizarre tableaus amongst the shelves and shapes in the darkened bookstore.

He had started and stopped so many times, each more disappointing than the last. He had somehow misplaced his drive, his motivation. The wind had opted for an extended vacation from his sails.

Amanda tip-toed down the stairs from their tiny apartment above the shop. Various candles lit with a poof as she walked by. At six, she was already in full control of her abilities, and her golden eyes had the same mesmerizing effect as her mothers. How he had ever come to earn the love of a woman such as Serena, he would never understand. But love him, she did. And he loved her too, just as desperately.

His daughter crept up beside him and gave him a warm kiss on his cheek. He turned and snuggled her, this most precious of lifes gifts. He put aside his still mostly empty diary, and reached for a larger, colourful book on the shelf beside him.

Opening it to the bookmarked page, he read, as Amanda cuddled up against his chest, one rebelious leg swinging in an imaginary rhythm. They often sat like this for hours, him reading, her listening. She would steal kisses, wrapping her tiny hands around his neck and holding on tight. She loved her father, strange as he was to this world, even though he was not, to her. Serena watched them quietly from the top of the stairs, smiling.

Their existence was simple. A loving family of three, purveyors of ancient books and imaginary worlds, relics from an age too far gone for anyone alive to remember otherwise. Serena, a woman of intense beauty, and consumate rage, should harm or ill will come to her family, or other innocents. Amanda, a smaller version of her mother, capable of reducing any thing to ash and cinder in the blink of an eye, yet delightful in her gentle way. And Derek, the only person since Transformation to have been born with no ability.

The light outside dimmed, as the Sun began to slide past the horizon.

Amanda yawned, slipping down from her fathers knee. He patted her head, and shooed her off to bed. Rising to lock the door and blow out the flickering candles, Derek paused to look out at the street. Soon, warm, lithe fingers skated across his back, as Serena edged closer to him, catching him off guard.

Sharing a tender kiss, Serena motioned with her head towards the stairs, and he nodded, sadness touching the edges of his smile. They walked upstairs, arm in arm, to tuck their daughter in.

The Old Man in the Rain

The wind was picking up again. He could smell it; the rain, heavy in the air. It would come soon enough, soaking the landscape in cold, weary wetness. No matter.  He was almost done. The long work She set Him out on, so many nights and days ago.

He paused, leaning on the oak stick, giving His aching knee some respite. He surveyed the long work. He had no particular understanding of why it was so important. She had been working on it long before He had come along. She had asked Him to finish it. She breathed. Then She didn’t.

So here He was. Finishing the work. He stooped to grab the twisted, colourful cable, and connected it to the covered conduit next to Him.

A single, greasy raindrop landed on the back of His rough, wrinkled hand. The rain was here. He turned the red circular dial, just as She’d shown Him. A low, growling hum began to build.

The white, whithering hairs on the back of His neck stood up. He reached for the board switch. Cautiously watching the imposing dark cloud rolling in over the valley, He flicked the switch.

And the World exploded in colour and light.

Hints, Allegations, and Things best left Unsaid

It’s getting dark outside, here where i am, and heavy, gray clouds are rolling from the East.

The air is thick and wet, and at any moment the sky could tear itself open and wash down upon the ground.

I’m safely inside. Out of the storm. At least in a physical sense.

Thousands of kilometres away, life trudges forward. Shit happens. All of which is outside my control, and beyond my understanding.

After all the chaos of the day dies down, the quiet moments in between each deep sigh remind us of how deeply we can feel the words said in haste and from anger.

The ups, and downs, and sides to sides that occupy this gauntlet we live through, seeks to bruise us, batter us, and leave us exhausted and worn. And then we get up and do it all over again.

We have to really live with the consequences of our actions. Not just pay them lip service. Not just say “we have to live with this”, but take it in, embrace it, and be willing to accept it for all of the heartache it will mean.

There is a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path, and either way is a test for our collective soul.

But i can’t pretend to know what any of you are thinking, or feeling, or knowing, or living through, if you don’t say anything until it’s too late.

I am only a drop, in an infinite ocean of drops. I am a leaf on the wind. I am myself, at the best of times, and the worst of times, still just myself.

And i am sorry if that just isn’t good enough. Because it is all I have to offer.

Nobody Puts My Baby In The Corner

Let me be perfectly clear:

There is no force, inside or outside of this Universe, that will ever affect me so strongly, in any manner or form, as to cause me to turn my back on my wife.

She is the single greatest thing to have ever happened to me.

Like, fucking literally.

Don’t get me wrong: I love our children.  They are frantic, wonderful little creatures of tremendous energy and spirit. They often piss me off. But that’s ok. They are kids, not terrorists, for fucks sake.

Without Her, however, there would be no point.

This shouldn’t be something (any of) you SPECIFICALLY need to be reminded about. Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to listen. If (any of) you can afford the time to come down off that high horse you have shoved up your ass(es).

This is my proverbial rooftop, and motherfucker(s), I am most definitely shouting.

Because there is nothing I hate more, than some asshole who assumes that he (or she) suggests otherwise.

Nobody knows better than me, just how much more my life is worth, with Her as a part of it.

She is ALL I need.

Everything else gets to wait in line.

A Month of Somedays…..

Sorry. I’ve been out of the loop a bit.

The coffee is pretty good. The scenery, delightful. The internet: not so great.

But quietly approaching 30 days of naught, and I’m still looking for a place to happen.

I’m not intentionally obtuse, I just can’t tell you anything.

But it does cause my mind to cast off to far away shores, where the comfortably numb are free to pontificate upon the big bad wolf in designer sheepskin shoes, and how hard life is, what with all the free health care and freedom to choose life, or liberty, or the pursuit of tackiness.

Sometimes, just imagine that things are not as convoluted as the script outline says they are.

Consider, if you will, the idea that maybe, just maybe, the farther from home you are, the more it’s the same same.

We are all afraid. We all want love. And the simple things in life, like a cup of good coffee, the sweet caress of a warm hand, or a bellyful of shared laughter counts towards our daily bread, all the more so than anything that fits within the 140 character limit of doom and gloom.

I miss home. I miss what it represents and how it makes me feel. But most of all, the more I see of people at home, wherever they are, the more I reminded of why i am here. For now, at least.

Someday soon, it will be just another day. And then I will be home again, home again. Jiggity jig.