SeraphimBroken
Member
since 03-09-2009
Posts 74
USA
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0 posted 01-13-2010 04:00 PM
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This is my first try at posting in this section. I have just started to expand my writing practices, so please be gentile  lol. I wrote this, over a wellspring of emotions that I had to let out, little knowing what later on that evening would mean to someone else in an entirely different situation.
Hours after I posted this elsewhere on line, I came to know my niece's step grandfather finally passed away from Alzheimer's after suffering with it for many years. I went back to read this after hearing the news and it struck me. It's hard to realize, that words from one, could mean something so deep to another.
"I can't seem to stop the snow falling on my face. Cold, with each light feathers touch, gently caressing my blushed cheek. I can smell the crisp whisperings of the breeze of incandescent white in the night light. It's beauty, mesmerizing to the eyes of the soul. Calm, serene as it falls, gently into my warm waiting hand. It's icy cold embrace, giving me chills that freeze the once melting of my cold, brittle heart.
Brittle it becomes, with each passing of a perfectly shaped concentric star, forming the edges of memories on my heart with their bitter chill. I reach inside to embrace and warm that of what shapes me, as it beats in my fingers, pulsing memory after memory, like a beat of a past distant drum.
As i gaze upon its vestige with nonchalant wonder, I try to remember, but with each beat, a memory fades. I cannot choose which ones I can keep you know, they go at their own longing for release. The snow seems to be stopping now... as the night sky clears to it's wonder of icy stars in the night, the chill becomes increasingly undeniable to the weakened bending of my will. Another memory, beats out of my hand into the night sky.
Where they go, I have no longing to know. As they float away, like diamonds streaking among the stars, to be wishes for others who catch sight of them in their dreams.
I know, the light is coming. Again, to warm with its embrace.
The beating is almost done. Not many memories left. Perhaps, if I just lay it under the snow, one may remain. I do not know which it will be. Nor do I seem to have want of one in any choosing of importance. Frozen in time, perhaps to remain for some passerby to uncover under the icy cotton, glittering under the stars... with the last memory, perhaps they can keep it for me.
I place it under the snow, so I may never know, when the last memory leaves. But perhaps, I may need it someday. I will cross that winter, when it comes. Slumber, shall be my cloak. Chill shall be my comfort. Least I warm for a season, and it beats again with memories.
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