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I am Known But to GodKnown but to god. Thats what my headstone says. My mother has walked past my grave multiple times. She has no clue its me. My daughter has touched my cross, not know what shes touching. My wife. I know she can feel me. Sometimes she thinks shes crazy though. I wish she wouldnt. This is terrible. Known but to god. No one will remember me. No one will remember my name. No one will know what I did for my country. Eternal glory? No. Why couldnt they recognize me? Why couldnt they identify me? Why? Why me? Why not the man next to me? Known but to god. No one knows who I am but god but I guess thats all I really need. God. Thats why I am here i
SunriseOh wow...This is about the time when the sunrise is the same color as your hair. Gorgeous sunrise here. There are these huge clouds right where the sun will be soon that are fluffy purple and pink and the sky is your hair moving into a yellow then teal then a dark purplish blue. It's great... I wish you could be here to see it with me. I'd kiss you right now. The pinks and purples are getting more intense, just like our kiss would be doing about right now. The wind blows hard. Though there are walls keeping us in, we feel it blow through us empowering and exciting our souls. We feel like one...
The wind stops.
The clouds pause at their peak color.
And we stare into eachothers eyes
and then I whisper those three words
I love you.
Three Trips, Two Falls "Number fourty-two!" shouted the old head behind the counter. I raised my had to show that it was mine and started my strut. Took them long enough. It's just a burger. I put my headphones back into my ear and walked turned around. Where the heck am I going to sit? Maybe I'll find a nice piece to sit next to. Dang! that one got a nice grill on her. I strutted as hard as ever. She looked over at me. She got a man but I don't care. He ain't got nothin' on me. Yeah that's right honey, look at me. What was that? All my food is gonna fall. Shoot! Yeah that's right. I got it all. That takes skill. I look down behind me and see ice on the ground. I kick them away. Stupid ice. What about the honey? I turn and see her pointin' a
Aromatherapy As I sit through yet another lecture, the ice pounds on the windows—not even rain; it is cold, heartless, piercing ice falling from the sky. The dark clouds segregated us from the sun. Miserable. I think that is a suiting word. Someone opens an exterior door, quickly comes in and closes it with a SLAM. He was not quick enough for just a few seconds later a cold sociopath-like hatred whirled through the room, sending chills down each of our spines as it reached our bare necks. But. But wait… What's that? That smell? I know it well. Where did it come from? Why is it gone already? I raise my nose like an animal to try to catch one last whiff to see if I can recognize it, but I fail.
She hasn't shown up today. She must not be here. My sullen gait down through the corridor displays a warning
ForgivenStill ringing in my ears was The Voice—
the voice that calmed the raging seas.
Yes it is Him.
Here, in front of me
He speaks again to me. His warmth fills the air
Whispering confidence into my soul.
He stands there in front of me in the darkness of the unknown room
His eyes, of deep brown,
peering into my heart.
His hair is long just pas shoulder length.
And the hairs clump in wavy curls as if they were wet.
His robe of white hangs down to the floor.
He sees me hurting.
I know he can see it, though he continues to stand there
Not saying a word.
I look into his eyes.
He looks into my eyes.
Mine start to tear.
The lids are full to the brim.
The tears start rolling.
They will not stop.
I dropped to my knees.
A pool collected
My muscles tore.
My temples throbbed.
My heart pounded.
I felt a comfortably weight on my settle onto my shoulder.
A calm radiated from the spot of the touch.
Each sinew of muscle began to relax.
Crowned I look down and I see another one. I start pulling it—yet another hair on my sweatshirt. I'm pulling and pulling until finally the length of it has come off. I get excited as I pull these hairs off. Why you may ask? Well, I have short black hair, so these hairs I pull are not mine. These hairs excite me because they remind me of the one I love, for they belong to her.
I hold the golden strand in my hand. Many know that something may look one color but when you separate the pieces they look a slightly different color or at least lighter. She may have red hair, but a single strand is gold, 24k gold.
I play with her hair. First, as instinct tells me to do, holding one end of the hair, I pull until I get to the other end. I see this is one of her longest. As I pull it taught memories of u
if you need help making it through the dayremember:
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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