The future unfolds before my dimmed vision. Replete with loneliness and heartache, it nonetheless promises and beckons and thrills. What might be. Accursed hope. And her, in her own mind with her spinning wheel and loom, weaving a riveting tapestry only to cut threads free and weep and mend. She is within me now and her thoughts rise through my mind, seltzer bubbles stained with cherry red blood, long percolating in the pain of her absence. I kneel within me, tears streaming from eyes, begging my heart’s forgiveness for hating her. She glares from further down within, from the void she created when she left, angry and telling me to stop: “I still love you, you know. There is no reason except that it was what I wanted and that I know you’ll be back.” She chuckles. “Foolish, foolish, foolish. The woman who taught you to love and be loved. She loves you. Your hers. I don’t have time for this crap,” she mutters and return to her loom to finish the shroud she weaves for a soul. Mine so she can fill it? Hers so she can put to rest the child inside her before it murders her? Ooh, that’s shiny.
Continue with your creative expression – pour out your fears, concerns, and ambitions. Best of wishes!