Aspiring summer

Preceded by downpours

Raining away winters grasp.

Intense sparkle of gleaming droplets

Lending to the spring-clean bath.

Shake the cobwebs and frost off.

Hours get added to the day.

Out are the evening light bugs

When the wrathful winter wanes.

Ecstatic are the little ones.

Ready for their school to break.

Sacred spring at summers wake.

________________________

Early in the light of day

Acolytes found at the cave

Stone Boulder was moved

They ran to see

Entombed savior gone

Rendering truth to profacy.

So the son of God,

Unconditional his love and grace

Now has risen and with mercy

Divinely made living proof

As from the dead he is raised

Yashwa lives and we are saved!

The image which haunts Lorelei is an unexpected one. It is not a memory of moonlit trysts, or discreet midday rendezvous, though there had been plenty of those. In fact, she could hardly recall those moments anymore, they having faded into the fog of times past as her love for Julien somehow grew stronger in the wake of their lived, though unshared tragedy.

No, the image that remained with Lorelei was the memory of three bronzed young men sweating under a brassy summer sun, the trio working together, building a home for the one of them who was newly wed, with each striving to outdo the others in front of the new bride, and each having reason to want to.

The young men worked together in the same manner in which they had played as boys, missing no opportunity to either whole-heartedly help one another, or to light-heartedly slander one another’s efforts, whichever the situation called for in the moment. And from the sidelines Lorelei watched her home rise from their calloused, but caring hands the same way she’d watched them as a child, wanting to be a part, but knowing she would be in their way. The boys had been the best of friends for as far back as Lorelei could remember, clear back to when she was little more than a babe watching their hi-jinx from the prison-like confines of her shaded porch, longing to be big enough to join them in the yard for their games. Lorelei had loved these three all her life long.

The first of the three boyhood friends was her own brother Michael, four years Lorelei’s senior and forever her idol; the boy who could do no wrong in her eyes, nor in the eyes of any other in their small town. Beautiful, smart, athletic, and the self-proclaimed protector of his younger sister. That was her Michael.

The second of the boys would become her husband. Julien, the dusty and brash one. Even as a boy Julien had seemed larger than life, and had grown into a man even bigger. Julien first swore to marry Lorelei when she was seven years old, and he twelve. She would never forget the jiggly feeling inside her when Julien had first taken her tiny, vulnerable hands in his own. She had committed herself to Julien then and there, before she was old enough to know what love was, as he gazed straight-away through her eyes and into her soul while solemnly vowing to her, "Don't laugh, Lorelei. I am going to marry you, I swear it. So you must promise me now that you will never love another."

Unable to voice a response, Lorelei had given affirmation to his childish promise with the nod of her head, though even back then she had known the nod was a lie. But she never, all through the years, doubted that Julien had meant his vow, as he took pains to remind her over the course of their lives by insisting that he be the first to hold her hand, and the first to kiss her lips. Julien had been her first for nearly everything.

The third boy, though. It was that third boy whom Lorelei’s fascination revolved around. Rainey, the quiet boy. Rainey was Lorelei's true, if secret love. She had never once looked at Rainey Davan (and she had looked at him a million-billion times) without longing. But Poor Rainey never promised Lorelei anything. He was too quiet, too shy. In all those years Rainy rarely even spoke to her that his tawny cheeks did not blush pink. But he was always there, quietly in the background, quick to help, or quick to hug. And their eyes always met, and her heart always flinched, but there was always Julien between them... right up until that night when he wasn't.

Julien was away at college, Rainey was not. Their meeting that night was accident, or fate, who knows which? The dock was her quiet place, so she was startled, if not disappointed, to find Rainey there sitting alone in the dark. She sat down beside him, their bare feet dangling in the cool water, he as quiet as always while crickets, and bullfrogs, and lightning bugs made light of the solemness surrounding them.

”Are you really going to marry him?”

”Yes. I suppose.”

His breath became ragged. “What will I do then?”

The despair clotting his throat was too much for Lorelei to bare. She would never hurt Rainey for anything, so her hand found his lying on the weathered boards of the dock and rested gently atop it. She could not see his face in the darkness, but she could feel his warmth, and the pulsing of his heart as her own sensed it’s anguish.

”You have waited too long, Rainey. He has already asked me, and I have already said yes.” They were the proper words, though in their own longing they lacked the necessary conviction.

”He claimed you when we were ten.”

”He has always loved me.”

”So have I.”

And rhythmic waves slapped the dock, rocking them. And cool winds caressed their skin, chilling them. And a waning moon shone, speckling black the water, illuminating their furtive love in it’s pale light. And so it happened that Julien was not the first for everything.

Of course, Julien returned come spring, a budding lawyer. The wedding was in the fall, with winter whispering the breeze, and secrets shadowing the leaves. And the honeymoon was long for her, and the Keys as quiet as Rainey, and the ocean as restless as she. And man and wife secretly pretended it was the first time as they explored one another, sharing themselves as love requires. For she did love Julien. He was easy to love. He made love easy. So it was with a surprising unsavoriness that Lorelei discovered what she had always conjectured; that one can indeed love two.

But how could she ever be happy with two? And how could she ever be happy now with one?

A daughter came first, with Rainey’s eyes, then a son with Julian’s. And the girl was shy, and the boy clever, and Julien watched them both grow with interest, but if he wondered he never did so aloud.

And Rainey and Michael went into business together, building houses, and Julien‘s practice grew, and the three of them became as successful as the little town would and could allow them to be, and all were happy, but one. And Rainey Davan never married, and everyone knew why, but one. But the secrets never told themselves, nor the whispers, and her guilt consumed her from the inside out, and Lorelei wondered that Julien never wondered.

It was a weeknight, when her brother Michael was murdered. Lorelei could remember exactly which night, it being her last one with Rainey. Being in business together it was easy for the law to assume Rainey a motive, and so it did, and so the town did, particularly when a witness came forward, declaring the height to be right, and the build… though the witness had not seen the face.

Of course Julien defended Rainey. Julien‘s show was compelling, too, but whispers are too much for truth, and secrets, so Rainey hanged as they all knew he would. Lorelei watched from her husband’s side as her other half died. And though her breath caught once, she did not cry, nor he. She could not, could she? But she could have told. And she wondered that he didn’t? Ever the quiet one, Rainey Davan, right up to the last. Always too quiet for his own good.

But love does not end with death, and Lorelei’s did not. And in the dark of night she slipped away to one love, as always. And as always, the other love watched her go. And as always, the one patiently awaited her. And as always, the other roiled behind.

But she was not bitter as her finger blindly traced the name carved in the stone. How could she be, when she was alive, and still able to love? And she wondered at the behaviors love inspires? For it was love that kept Rainey quiet, when an alibi would save him. Just as it was love kept her quiet, when that alibi was she.

And love reveals itself to each of us differently; some cheating for it, others dying for it, and some? Well, some will kill to keep it.

And that kind of love is still love, is it not?

That killing kind of love is still love.

(Inspired by Lefty Frizell/ Johnny Cash’s “Long Black Veil”. I am personally partial to Lefty’s haunting voice on this tune, but either will skin the cat.)

Dear...We Didn't Bother Looking At Your Name,

We would have liked to thank you for your submission. Listen, you are great, but - Unfortunately, we had to wash our hair that day. Kept us busy most of the morning. Plus, there was a rerun of JAG that we could not possibly miss. You know they only air several times a day. You understand, obviously. We really wish we would want to read the rest of your submission, but we all had a long night at Benihana. And to be fair, no one felt like it after all that sake. Please, we have already enclosed a box of Kleenex in this letter. We get a discount and a tax write-off. Most importantly, we strongly agree that it's not us, but you. Really wish you the best of whatever luck you have left. Trust us when we say, you are going to need it.

Not very sincerely,

Hopes and Dreams

P.S. We have also enclosed a bill for the postage we had to spend to send this letter back.

Dear Virginia,

I am utterly amazed at the request you submitted for one million dollars. How could any sane person refuse to respond after seeing the faces of those six sad reindeer? It’s obvious their need is great to be wrapped in golden gowns after having been turned down to ride across the sky on the most important night of the year.

If only I had one million dollars, I would send you a bag of carrots and look for a secluded beach near the north pole.

Much love,

Santa Claus

Dear Ms.Rose,

I've perused your dating profile thoroughly and though you seem promising, I'm afraid you're not the person for me. There's nothing wrong with you. Your resume is impeccable and you're a very talented artist. And there's no denying that you're pleasing to the eye. You're the prettiest girl I've seen on this site.

It's not you, it's me.

You see, I'm looking for a very specific type of person. Growing up, I received little to no affection from my father. I'm sure you can guess where I'm going with this.

My father was a wandering soul and couldn't be bound to one place. He never stayed at home. But there was no denying that he is every girl's dream man. His rugged looks and physique just can't be beat.

You're very sweet. But you're also too soft. I'm not into that. I want to be condescended.

Sincerely,

Electra

-|-

Brianna Rose stared at her phone in disbelief. She had recently set up a dating profile to try something new. It was about time she went on a date after slogging through exam season.

But this was something else.

Why wasn't there anybody sane on this site?

She quickly deleted the DM and then proceeded to delete the whole app. Then, she contemplated on getting her phone exorcised from any potential demons.

I began writing as soon as I was able. Making up songs. Stories. Characters. Worlds.

I enjoy the craft, adding my faith and message into every piece and sharing with others. Even if I am the only one who ever reads, hears, or appreciates my work, it is indeed a joy.

My ultimate goal is to finally get myself to a position where I am not frantically running around every which way putting my own projects on the back burner. Somehow, I wish I could catch up with everything and then have a nice, quiet time where I can write out what's floating around in my brain, edit the words that are already out, organize it all, and publish to be read, even if for free, books in every genre. Something for every soul. Even if no one picks up a single page, I have these stories bursting at the seams of my brain and clawing at the cusp of my heart to be released out into the world. This is why I publish short stories. Snippets of works that have been dancing along in my infinite imagination for years. They've grown with me and matured with me. Often I find new friends or things I've never seen before. Other times, I unearth tales long lost from childhood. All genres. All stories. A host of characters.

Even other types of writing... songs, for example. I have hundreds of them, but I hardly have time to stop and actually record my voice singing them, or compose the music and piece together the track. But I love music, and these songs yearn to be propelled into the flow of the wind as it wisps through the leaves of trees on an autumn day. They cry to be carried along with the smell of marshmallows being roasted at a winter bonfire. They desire to join the tweets of birds in spring and chirp with crickets in the dead of a summer night.

I once kept a journal, and many believe I should keep a blog... oh, but dear time. Dear time eludes me. Even now, when I am penning this rant, there are things to be done. I shall end here. God bless you all, and one day, perhaps, my dream may come to pass.

Until then, be it short stories, quick poems, social posts, or rants,

I must write.

I must write.

I must write.

Hi there.

My name is Sandra.

Some call me WordiGirl.

I'm known here as LexiCon.

Nice to meet you.

God bless!

Fallen angels, it’s written, can’t shed tears,

Wandering, sullen, for long, lonely years.

Grieving’s for mortals, and reasons to weep,

When all of life’s hardships are solemn and steep.

No longer an angel, you could say I fell,

Gravity gripped me; I stopped short of Hell.

Heaven’s forgotten, eroded by time,

I’ve forgotten His love, I’ve forgotten my crime.

When I fell, it was through blackest night,

Scorched by the swift Borealic lights.

My fiery feet streaked a splintering tail,

I named myself Icarus when my wings failed.

I named myself Pain, on the shattered ground,

I named myself Pity when I was found.

I named myself Hunger, when my pangs were worst,

And when I was parched, I named myself Thirst.

I named myself Wander, with no purpose planned,

I named myself Beggar, outstretching my hand.

I named myself Swan, for my lingering grace,

I named myself Crow, for my charred, ruined face.

My name was Tempted. I found a dropped pack,

My name became Honor when I gave it back.

The owner was flustered, I thought that he’d chide

But he smiled and thanked me; I named myself Pride.

I built a house, named it Home, found a wife,

A human celestial; I named us both Life.

I laughed at her wit and I named myself Mirth,

I named myself Father, for our child’s birth.

I named myself Mortal, but it failed to take,

I named myself Grief for my wretched mistake.

I buried them both side-by-side on a hill,

I named myself Grateful, and think of them, still.

Time soothed my scars, took the limp from my lame,

Meanwhile, I stole for myself many names.

They helped me remember where I had once flown,

And I cried a river, when I was alone.

Wind heard. He came, and I spared him a glance,

As he whispered to me of a second chance.

“Return your names properly, quiet what clings,

If you wish to be granted a new set of wings.”

I turned my face skyward, and thought of the stars,

I thought of the heat, and I thought of the scars.

I thought of the hand and the heart, and the love

Casting me from all I had known, up above.

No longer wandering, hollow inside,

I know of Temptation, and I know of Pride.

I know that on new wings I might never fly,

But I’ll never again be forbidden to cry.

Wind didn’t argue. I think that he’d known,

Long before coming, he’d fly back alone.

One stubborn enough to be cast out at all

Probably would double down, on a fall.

My name was Peace, and my name was Tranquil.

My name was Poem, and then it was Quill.

I returned what I’d borrowed, like fish to the sea,

But I took one, and kept it: I named myself Free.

You know the moment, that one crazy euphoric moment, when you think, this is it, you’ve been waiting for this, this is the start of the rest of your life.

It could have happened anywhere, anytime, doing something absurdly insignificant, like eating chinese food straight from the carton, chuckling along a laugh track of a sitcom rerun, ratty pajamas and strewn socks on the floor. It didn’t matter. The moment came because it was with that one person, the one girl that changed everything, that changed you.

Suddenly you knew that nothing could be the same anymore.

Her name was Lena.

Raven haired with big brown doe eyes that felt like a warm cozy blanket on a rainy day. She was brilliant, too, and kind. You could barely keep up with her. Because of her you turned into a different man, a better man. All of a sudden you were seeing independently released movies literally only five people have heard of and reading Sartre and volunteering at the animal shelter.

You were the best version of yourself around her. You couldn’t remember the last time you pulled out a seat for another person in your life, and yet, with Lena, it came naturally, like a primal instinct almost forgotten. You had this insatiable need to be her provider and protector, and there was nothing wrong with that, was there?

In short order she became your everything, and you tried your best to be everything for her. You should have seen the signs, but you were too busy loving her. Nobody ever warned you about that kind of love. The dangerous kind. The stuff of tragedies, recorded for posterity, an omen for future lovers and naive dreamers.

You couldn’t believe it when she stopped answering your calls, your number blocked, her friends stonewalling you, a girl army of sharp tongues and quick wits, preventing you from even talking to her.

You just needed a few minutes, that’s all. A few minutes to explain. After all, eventually she would see that you were the only man for her, the only one who understands her, who will love and protect her no matter what.

You were prepared for this, you were prepared to fight for her. You weren't the type of man who quit when the going gets tough.

That restraining order really was a bit overboard on her part, though.