“So….when you are having kids?”
Not if. When. The next stage. The wedding is over now. We want something else. Do something else. Have a baby. We want you to have a baby. Go on. Do it.
It began as soon as we got married. Once the euphoria of the wedding day had dissolved and life had resumed its conventional form, the question arrived. The question. As if it was a query that had been preloaded for years with the wedding acting as a release valve to kick it free. It was members of the family who ventured forward first, earnestly firing their enquiry at us, succumbing to the sheer desperation to just know. We just want to know. Truth be told, it’s a straight-forward question without a straight-forward answer.
“So….when you are having kids?” Not if. When. The next stage. The wedding is over now. We want something else. Do something else. Have a baby. We want you to have a baby. Go on. Do it.
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Cold chases away heat,
full pale moon failing to match the sun, spurring me to action. A physical transformation: silken fur slides over me, wrapping my frigid, useless skin. Brown sleek pelt protects against swift wind, crisp air futilely cascading over me. Old cold blood like sludge heats, thins and courses, sensation radiating through my veins. Warmth floods my newly clad body. No longer exposed to the elements I am free to think and move. My mind sharpens as my body is rejuvenated, no longer dealing with the numbing, dumbing cold. I’ve always wanted this, deep down, I’ve always wanted it. Man, fur coats are the shit. I grew up on a country lane in a rambling farmhouse,
That was old and damp my mum would oft’ grouse. It was centuries old and impossible to heat, Lighting the fire in the snug an essential treat. Positioned on the edge of an encompassing wood, Where we used to play as much as we could. My mum was hesitant ‘bout letting us play there, But for my brother Tom and I, it became our lair. We’d explore it all day and play near the stream, But everything in those woods was not as it seems. We found an old gnarled tree we both liked to climb, It became the place we spent most of our time. There was a spot high up where thick branches met, We attached sticks and blankets and our den was all set. We’d dream up different games as we hid in our den, Tom was older than me, he was nearly ten. He became bored and wanted to go deep in the woods, But Mum had said no and I wasn’t sure we should. But he was older than me and held far greater sway, So we headed deeper into the woods one terrible day. The cracking and crunching of leaves under my footsteps break the silence of the cool early autumn evening as I stroll through the woods on my family’s property. A slight breeze ruffles my hair and carries the sweet fragrance of freshly mown hay to my nose, where the scent dances for a while before slowly absconding to combine with the irresistible smell of the great outdoors. I spot a cardinal wafting lazily in the breeze. Everything is calm. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my faded jeans as I saunter through the evening’s tranquility with one clear goal: to clear my mind. Amidst the reds, oranges, yellows, and browns of fall, my consciousness boards the one-way train to nostalgia. My mind in its own place, and of itself, all my worries dissipate as the sound of rustling leaves drowns out the heckles and taunts of my deepest fears of inadequacy and loss. In this moment, this blithe, insouciant moment, I am free, free from the hackneyed routine of fear, doubt, self-loathing, and resentment. In these serene, amicable woods I feel only one emotion: contentment.
Bling. My phone buzzes. @VirginSlayer69 responded to your tweet: "ur jokes suck gaywad lmao #420blazeit." I sigh. It's good to be online. In the Beginning,
when God came to visit, Eve set out tea and tiny, crustless sandwiches. Adam sat, comfortably nude, in his BarcaLounger chair. God smoked cigars and Listened. Later, (after that business with the snake) Conversation crawled and fig leaves got in the way of everything. Eve cleared her throat and fanned at the cigar smoke, Adam shifted from foot to foot, and God muttered under his breath. O, tree of beauty,
with your great boughs reaching yonder I watch you from afar at night, archaic silent wonder Past darkness sleeps and secret dreams All twisted by their keeper Where your soul can gather dust, it fades here in the ether. Salted breaths against the rocks As moonlight rages on The earth it still keeps turning stars shine their fervent song So nestle down in mothers soil Whilst time, it ticks away Oblique in your eternity As tattered branches sway. Phrases. Idioms. We use these in our everyday lives. We make funny jokes about them on Twitter. But do we really know how they came about? No, you say? Well, let me break down a few for you and school you on the meaning of popular idioms.
As he holds the precious vessel in his hand,
He wonders why they always end up like this- So broken. Tracing the large split down the centre with his finger He feels the echo of the trauma that caused it Like a thump to the chest. Dozens of smaller cracks fan out from the central canyon- A delta of fresh channels spreading from the older, deeper river. He can see that, rather than emerging from the main breakage, They started separately & ran into it, augmenting the larger trauma. Dolefully, he runs his fingers over them, feeling every disappointment, every betrayal, every loss. So many. Surely it should have fallen apart. Looking closer, he notices tiny strings across the cracks, Almost knitting them together. Although small, they appear strong. He feels each of them gently; A kind word, A thoughtful gesture, A burst of uncontainable laughter- Such joy from the simplest of moments. Carefully covering the vessel with both hands, He feels it as a whole, & smiles. Yes, he thinks. Now I understand. “I’m fine”. The words spluttered out of me, like a horse bolting. There was no control or grace to the words, I threw them out as quickly as I could, let them into the world. There was no meaning behind them; they were empty, like I was firing blanks. I just knew I had to say it. That’s what was needed in that moment.
I looked down at my feet, beyond my black tie billowing in the wind. The rain was bouncing off the leather of my shoes, which were in turn beginning to sink into the increasingly saturated mud. I shuffled my feet slightly, feeling the ground desperately trying to hold me in place. I could feel the rain running down the back of my collar. My shirt was beginning to stick to my skin. My hair was slick against my scalp, and I was beginning to taste hair product in the corners of my mouth. A word of wisdom's any that we say
A lord of wizards' orders, we obey Accord with powers, astral, fell, or fey. Affording us the might to light the way. A horde of warriors, we aptly slay A sword of water washes fools away We will the winter winds to whip and flay To freeze our foes who know they'll die today Transmuting gold from lead, and life from clay Transporting from afar without delay To us, "impossible" is children's play We overshadow gods to whom men pray With warlords, kings, and sultans we parlay Ally with us or life's the price you'll pay |
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