It’s always a pleasure of mine to create something. It’s even more of a pleasure when it comes out the way I had first seen it, as a whispery-silver apparition of an idea. It is from that ghostly image that I morph it from absolutely nothing to a descriptive paragraph that causes the reader to picture every sentence as a movie frame, playing before their eyes; an abstract drawing that instills beauty, terror, and thought; a poem, so flowing, it oozes out the mouth and rubs against the eardrums; a piece of music that twists emotions from happiness of sweeping overtures, to the strength of crescendos, to the somber, bittersweet ballad. These forms of self expression – writing, drawing, and music – are conduits, outlets for my deepest emotions and mounting stress. They provide me with something to concentrate and put focus on, freeing me from the plague of loneliness, boredom and depression. The ability to freely express myself provides a balance against my inner turmoil and it’s what I rely on to keep me sane. Oh, and I find it absolutely fun.
The scent of the blooms wafts through the cold screen door, riding the soft, almost non-existent breeze. Light and beautiful, it gracefully flows in a circular waltz of undiluted perfume. It holds me. Ever so gently, it trails it’s fingers up the length of my arm like a lover, intent on exciting, enticing, and all the more teasing me into a lull. The vapors grasp the very back of my head, pushing me into a kiss, deep, so deep that I can feel the tinge of utter sweetness on the tips of my tongue. The kiss is passionate as it is invisible, a spectacle of wonder as it is absolutely nothing, pushing a sense of want. She invades me, filling my nostrils to the brim with the air of her pleasure; of sun tipped citrus, sugary yet hinting subtle sourness. My lungs get their fill, greatly at first, then deeper…deeper, letting her run through the forest of veins that map my existence as our kiss rises into a sudden crescendo. The night is still. In the moonlight, her vibrant color fades as I leave her. Used her…to fulfill my lustful indulgence and now shutting her away to spend an eternity alone. And she sits there, imprisoned in a picturesque landscape, her bloom full, her fruit ripe. Forever more unmoving, aided only by the wind.