Tag: love

Recipe for Your Soul

Ingredients:

  1. 2 cups of self-raising determination.
  2. 2 cups of creativity
  3. Self confidence, beaten
  4. 200ml of love
  5. 1/2 a cup of insecurity (it will feel like more once baked, but that’s all I promise)
  6. A pinch of courage.

Method:

  1. Mix together all of the dry ingredients thoroughly in a large mixing bowl. Pour in the rest and beat yourself up.
  2. Put in the oven and turn up the heat. You might think you can’t take the pressure, but you can.
  3. Leave to cool when ready. You will become strong, but still soft.
  4. Decorate with icing if you like, but you don’t need it.

Serving suggestion: Give a generous portion to those who love you. Give none to those who do not deserve it.

via Daily Prompt: Portion

Stardust

I remember we are stardust

And when I miss him I look up.

I trace his outline in the cosmos.

I wave. He winks.

 

I remember that atoms are reused.

And I breathe deep recycled air

Passed from his lungs to mine

Through time.

 

I remember that time is relative

And although our speeds are different

Our destination is the same.

I will join him.

 

In the Night.

 

via Daily Prompt: Trace

Unmoored

 

When you are with me I am safe. When I am with you I am home. These are our harbours.

We spend so long apart, so long sailing between the two and I have become used to the open ocean.

The sea is changeable.

I get it.

I am too.

I know that your sea legs are weary and long for more stable ground. You want a harbour to drop anchors and build a less transitional home.

I get it.

I love you too.

But I am so used to being unmoored that I can’t make promises. When you are with me I am safe. And when I am with you I am home. But there is whole ocean and she whispers to me; ‘A ship in the harbour is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for.’

 

via Daily Prompt: Unmoored

Qualm-ette

We stood on the edge of something so deep that you couldn’t see the bottom. I took his hand and stared down. “You really have no qualms about this?”

“No,” he said it quickly. How could he stand here without the sense of impending doom? “But I sense you might. A small qualm? A qualm-ette, perhaps?”

I looked back over the edge.

“We have no idea how this is going to end,” I said.

“I know.”

“The end might hurt.”

“It might. Or it might never come.”

I looked around at the slippery edge before the sheer drop. It was no wonder that so many people fell in. At least doing it this way gave us some kind of control.

“Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s go.”

He smiled, kissed me and hand in hand we jumped in to Love.

via Daily Prompt: Qualm

Busking

Every day on his way to work James would pass a guy in the underground station playing a saxophone with his eyes closed. There were always three things that stood out to him- how good it sounded, how the music reminded him of a jazz band he’d been in at Uni and how very beautiful he looked when he played.

James would sit behind his desk and look at numbers and data and he would hum to himself. The sax player’s tune was improvised, but some version of it always ended up lodged in his head. He would sit at meetings and talk about sales targets, but his mind would be on jazz.

 This was a routine he fell in to. 
And it was a routine that sucked the life out of him. 
One grey and dreary Tuesday he stood in front of the mirror, trying to put on a tie but finding it impossible to move his hands. It was 07.36. He had three minutes before he had to leave his house if he wanted to get to the Tube station for work. He started to reach for his briefcase, but changed his mind and picked up something much larger in stead. 
That day, commuters saw not only their usual sax player but a man in a suit and no tie next to him, plucking and twirling and spinning a double bass. 
When the improvised collaboration was over the sax player turned to James and, with a smile, said, “Coffee?”

 

via Daily Prompt: Collaboration

Roots

On their first date they each planted a tree. Two, tiny saplings that they weren’t sure would survive.

She went off to University and he got a job in the City, but the tress grew all the same. Years passed them by. His job took him to another City and she went travelling for a while. He wrote books while she climbed mountains and studied elephants in the wild.

When they were old and grey they met again. They marvelled at how their trees had grown so beautifully, side by side and independently, but forever rooted in the same love.

via Daily Prompt: Roots

Opaque: The Unsculptable Man

The Glassmaker made figurines of everyone he met. Tiny, delicate statues that were so realistic many people swore that they had seen theirs move, or heard them whisper when their back was turned. There were some people who secretly felt that the figurine was a clearer image of the person they truly were than they were themselves.

Then the Glassmaker met a man he could not sculpt. He was the most charming and interesting man the Glassmaker had ever encountered. Try as he might, he could not persuade the glass to take his form. It couldn’t hold a shape so enchanting, or form a face so handsome. But most troublesome part of all was that, no matter what he did, the glass was opaque. This never happened. He could usually see so clearly.

It was on his twelfth attempt that the Glassmaker realised the problem. It was not the glass. Or the man. It was his own heart that was obscuring his vision, clouding the glass.

via Daily Prompt: Opaque

Doors

They met for a drink in a rooftop bar. He wore red and she wore blue and the night moved faster than usual.

She invited for dinner the following Tuesday to her flat with the midnight blue door. They sat in a kitchen she’d painted to look like the sky and for desert she served blueberry shortcake.

The next week she knocked on his crimson door and he returned the favour. He made bolognese, they drank Merlot and made plans for their next date.

A year later she moved in to his house and they painted the front door purple.

via Daily Prompt: Purple

What the Minimalist Kept

Her grandfather was a simple man, a minimalist.

Minimal furniture meant minimal places to sit, which meant minimal guests. Minimal guests meant minimal noise and mess. He kept what was functional and said what was necessary. His books came from the library so they could be returned and didn’t take up space.

When he died, she cleared out his house and found the only thing the minimalist had kept. A small, red box hidden inside the hollowed-out seat of his chair contained a photograph of her young grandfather standing in a colourful, cluttered room next to a beautifully messy woman.

via Daily Prompt: Minimal

Unboxing

Everything was spotless and white. The light, cream carpet on the floor was immaculate and the white table surfaces didn’t have so much as a crumb or a ring of condensation from drinks without coasters. The walls were white and blank- no pictures, no photographs, no art. It could have been a show home.

Annaliese had been surprised to be invited for dinner, Jane was not known for mixing with anyone from the office outside of work. Jane was even more surprised by the invite, it had slipped out of her mouth during a coffee break. She had wanted to take it back, but the invite had been spoken and accepted and now here they were- standing in her bright, white hallway.

Annaliese had seen the kitchen, the livingroom, the bathroom and even the bedroom. All of them were white and empty of anything that wasn’t purely functional. The only room she hadn’t seen was the one hidden behind a door marked ‘Life’. Before Jane could stop her, she had opened it. The room was cluttered with many boxes of different shapes and sizes, all stacked up against one another.

She had two boxes of about equal size labelled ‘Likes’ and ‘Dislikes’. ‘Family’ was wooden and solid. Jane found this one easy to organise- her mum, dad, siblings, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles all fitted well inside this this box.

A box labelled ‘Friend’ was pretty sturdy too, but sometimes things would fade from it and others would appear unexpectedly.

There was another box labelled ‘Colleague’, Annaliese saw herself in there and noticed with a smile that she was beginning to spill out in to it’s neighbouring box- ‘Friend.’

There was a box labelled ‘Lover’ that was almost in tatters. Jane knew it couldn’t hold anything for more than a few weeks.

In the corner was a large, closed box that was bursting  at the seams. It was dusty and covered in a few cobwebs. At some point, someone had moved it in here, labelled it ‘Jane?’ and ignored it. Annaliese walked over to it and dusted it off. Jane watched apprehensively as she began to unbox things. She handled everything inside with such care that in just one evening Annaliese took up space in the ‘Colleague’, the ‘Friend’ and the ‘Lover’ box. The boxes broke. Became one.

When she was done she took a pair of scissors and cut Jane’s name from the front of the box that had been ignored for so long. She took it and stuck it over the word ‘Life’ on the door. The door stayed open. Colour and comfort and warmth spread in to the house.

They sat back to drink tea without coasters and Jane wondered if one day she and Annaliese could start a ‘Family’ box of their own.

via Daily Prompt: Label