Stories

The flyaway

The pollen never touched the ground, it flew, never meeting its end. The petal seemed empty and the stem lost its beauty. But the pollen flew free. Free as a bird. Though my mouth never beckoned, my eyes waited for it to come back. It flew freely, and it wasn’t in me to tell it to stop. The happiness in its movements churned my heart, as I watched, yearning. But yearning is all I can do. Glyphical memories paint its way onto the mountains ahead and the sky above. I see you and I’m comforted. I see you. My eyes well up, and in the hazy despair the pollen disappears. In a flash of red. Of red. And suddenly it’s gone. Does loneliness begin now? Forlorn, forlorn this wretched heart. Clad me, clad my bare soul for I’m a controversy, a scandal in my own world. Was anything important? How could I be selfishly selfless? How could I think of only my self in the guise of another? I regret. And regret eats at me. Regret. Nevermore! Let you go, Lenore? Nevermore! Screams the raven. And ravished is my soul as I run. At the speed of light. I run to catch you. My frantic mind only speaking in the language of the urgent without the support of logic. Two steps have been taken. Two crucial steps to follow its path. Two steps. In two steps I realize, I can’t fly.

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