NaNo tidbits

People talk of sorrow as if it was soft, fluid and yielding, of drowning it its waters, being bathed by its tears. They talk about it as if it had a soft caress, comforting even. True sorrow isn’t soft. True sorrow is a thing of jagged rock surrounded by hungry, licking flames. It burns your heart, your motivations, your desires in such a blaze of white-hot heat that not even the ashes can tell the tale of what once was. It crushes your soul under the weight of mountains, squashing out every breath, immobilizing every limb so that your fingers can’t even twitch as you search for the air to scream. It steals your ability to fight, from the inside out. The person you were, dies. Gone. Everything solid, is ash. Gone. Everything real. Gone. Everything solid, real, tangible. Gone.

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Vergissmeinnicht

The sun was sinking in a violent slash of crimson like a fresh wound, just beginning to pucker and bleed. Purple and blue clouds blossomed in the west, slowly changing colors with the iridescence of day old bruises. Mist floated over the park like waiting ghosts, so low to the ground that it almost felt drizzling rain, suspended, afraid to find its way all the way to the bottom. Tiny beads of moisture clung to my body, decorating my skin and hair like tiny shining pearls, like tears