Day 62 Ruminating And Writing

Goddess

They thought her as a queen, a beauty like no other. They pictured her feet not touching the filthy ground. They put so much pressure on her that it was impossible for her to live up to their dreams. Her powers, her brow, and her beauty were not as the humans wished. She was not light on her feet. She stomped around. She was not there to bless them. She was there to fix all their ailments, from boils to heartbreak. Such things demanded a more sensible goddess than one made of delicate flowers and white hair stretching in the wind.

Yet, there was no day that she didn’t wish she could match their dream. Her stubby fingers to be nimble and delicate, her lips rosy, and her eyes bright. Her eyes were dead tired. There were circles under them from sitting beside the dying men, taking in their worries and confessions. Her heart didn’t know how to be as light as spring. All it knew was the sorrow of a mother crying over her dying child.

She was not the goddess they wished for. She was a goddess they needed.

Heartbreak

Love isn’t made for the likes of me. There needs to be a beating heart and not the coldness and emptiness of the passed history. I wanted to feel her hurt and anger. I wanted to say that it wasn’t her, that there was nothing wrong with her love, that I just couldn’t feel it. But the truth was that she never reacher me. Her love didn’t shine the way I wished it shined. And here I was, the cause of yet another heartbreak. They flew to me like moths to the flame that they only saw to exist, and all I could do was try to live up to that expectation.

Duty

His boots hit the porch. They felt heavy against the white-painted wood. He hesitated to knock on the door, but he had come this far. He let his wrinkled old knuckles produce the sound that came with so much hurt and expectation.

He straightened his uniform. It was a wonder that it still fit. But he had wanted to come as he had left. She had to see him. That he had done his duty for the country and for her. The army and the war had been the right choice.

The door opened slowly. Her face was as lovely as it had been back then, even after fifty years. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her smile made him want to crumble there and then, and beg for forgiveness for the choice he had made. He should have never left. He should have been there for her and her alone.

The Prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

I woke up with my right arm swollen. So, I skipped my morning workouts and did just fifteen minutes of yoga. Surprisingly, I have more energy to write, and it shows. I really need to find a balance with my workouts. Writing should be my priority, but it is so much easier to push aside because climbing and training for it is so much more immediate than writing a book and trying to get it to the right audience. There are times I want to give up, but I don’t know what else to do, nor do I want to do anything other than write. It gives me meaning. It makes me who I am and want to be. But so does pushing myself in climbing. Climbing has that odd mix of physical performance, problem-solving, and fear. It’s addictive, at least for me. There have been those times I have done something that has gotten me almost badly injured, and surviving that makes me feel more alive than most things in life.

But now I hop to write my book. I still haven’t figured out the Cruxh problem. But I will. He is important, and the story is about justice. I don’t know how yet.

Thank you for reading my rumblings! Have a beautiful day ❤