Denise gracefully hosts Six Sentence Stories, where writers unleash their magic under one simple rule: in no more or no less than 6 sentences.
This week’s prompt word is : PASTE
A Tale from the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.
Continuing from Thinking Of Home – Denise the Bar Tender has just picked up Hūnga for an after-midnight walk with her visitor and Nick the Gatekeeper found an envelope waiting for him, on the Welcome Friends mat of his apartment; inside a letter…
IT’S RAINING
My dear beloved,
it has been over a year since we’ve last been together; a year, day in – night out, I hoped to never see you again.
I have sealed the doors & the windows of my heart… yes, I always have my music but also Nick, I wrote & I wrote…with each drop of ink, one less tear…I wrote & I wrote… till one night, a smile; not copied /pasted from the past, a different one.
The city (the same we once called our city) was sleeping with dreams of tomorrow, I was out walking, enjoying the rain and I swear to God I could hear the Fates laughing as I saw you, a few feet in front of me walking calmly in the pouring rain like it was a sunny afternoon, with a dog by your side; the sight alone of your two silhouettes smashed all the defenses I’ve painstakingly been building, as effortlessly, as instantly as Mavericks waves.
The body knows, it always does; your silence, when we were sitting together was speaking to me… with a voice like none of the many I have heard, reaching depths of me never seen by another.
The body remembers, it always does; your touch, fingers saying more than words could ever dream of… your head resting on my breasts, where it belonged…your lips sailing on my skin, where they belonged.
You said silently before I go “Stay, we will face it together, in sunshine and in rain, together”; but how could I, without breasts to rest your head, without unscarred skin for you to touch… I knew though, that you would be proud of me when I told the doctors to fuck off – I will die as I choose…my last walk in the rain, seeing once more what I loved the most… you were right, my love…it always rains at our important days…It’s raining, my Nick… and it’s alright.
\\//
(watch the way Jeff Beck enjoys the solo from Tal Wilkenfeld on the bass…speaks volumes of the man, the musician and now, the legend)
BY THE COMPANY OF WARRIORS I KEEP
Spira / Nick © January 2023
inSPIRAtion 
Very poignant and heart breaking, Nick. But living life on our own terms and choosing the manner of our death is the way I would wish to go. Liked the silence speaks volumes line.
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I couldn’t agree with you more, Len.
Yet, even at the worst of times a hand taken needs a hand offered; and if done properly, self determination and dignity remain intact…a companion makes the voyage easier.
Thank you, Len.
It is good to hear from you again.
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Such a poignant and moving story Spira.
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Thank you, Sadje.
I appreciate you for always visiting and sharing your kind feedback.
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My pleasure
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It is very early here in New York and your love letter is the first I have read .. not once but three times. It is not to be taken lightly or glossed over. It is overflowing with memories and captures the heart in forever raptures. Anyone who reads this can easily think it was meant for them, written with only them in mind. That’s the way it was for me and I realized the music I heard was being played by my heartstrings. This is so lovely, so touching, it is almost unbearable but yet shall read it again. It is a breathless sigh, perhaps a last sigh, of a lover’s embrace in the rain.
I thought I had no words, Nick, but I was wrong. Lovely and poignant beyond compare. This is magic, caro 🖤
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(Will you allow me to respond with silence, cara?
Nancy…silence, gratitude and a tear 🖤)
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Of course, caro. Sometimes silence is the most profound form of communication and should never be disturbed or misinterpreted. The sound of silence is a beautiful thing beyond compare.
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Intense farewell letter. May she be healed and totally annoy those doctors.
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Thank you, Frank.
I have been fortunate enough to have patients under my watch “annoying those doctors” by destroying their prognosis. As long as there is will to embrace one more day.
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Where words fail the rain takes over and weeps for us.
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Indeed, Mimi…and cleanses and renews.
Thank you, Mimi.
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Hard not to feel a lump in the throat when reading this, Nick. Beautifully haunting and tragic – yet in all tragedy there can be found some peace in the end. The rain is a good metaphor – for tears and for cleansing.
This line: “a smile; not copied /pasted from the past, a different one.” is huge.
Hugs and a few drams of the good stuff with you!
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Thank you, Ford.
I am not surprised you echo-located a line seemingly insignificant.
To tell you the truth, a few drams of the good stuff shared would be more than welcomed right now!
Right back at you. Cheers.
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Yes, the seemingly insignificant can sometimes be the the lighthouse in the storm.
Hey, maybe the fates will be kind to bring us together this year for a dram or two, or three, or four…
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Amen to that, brother.
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Joy, sadness, acceptance…a letter that juggles one’s emotions. Sigh.
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And with your heartfelt comment, Keith, a circle is complete.
A circle that began with me saying I am not a writer…at best, I am the sigh of a writer.
And ending with your precious sigh.
Thank you,Keith.
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Truly a ringing of hidden, private, (and, in some, dreaded), bells we, all of us, carry through life.
Though the pain I identify with in your Six is, in it’s essential character, if not ferocity, quiet.
The old saying is that time heals all wounds. What they leave out is that, for some of us, some of the time, the wound heals around that which created it.
And so, we are, (some of us, some of the time) blessed and cursed with never forgetting entirely the parts of life that are inevitable if it is a life shared with others.
Good Six.
Damn! Mimi’s comment! lol I don’t always read comments before doing my own. WIWT!*
* Wish I Wrote That
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Time can heal but essentially, transforms wounds. And as you said some of us some of the time…
Thank you, Clark.
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💜😢
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🧡🙏🏼
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“a smile; not copied /pasted from the past”
This got me. I felt these words in a way I cannot express. This entire letter, full of hope and heartache; love and lonliness, life and death.
Exquisitely done. I can taste the scars that won’t heal; smell the spirit of one who will never break.
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Marla, I called you Dragon once…you have given your battles and you’ve got the scars to prove it.
I am moved by your reaction…
…spirit of one who will never break: you can put that next to your name, too.
Thank you, Dragon.
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My reaction is to the words you have laid out, and the way in which you did. You took words and arranged them so that they pack a deep meaning and drip with raw emotion. This is what caused a powerful reaction within me. The love and loss that weaves brilliantly between each word. The love and loss of another, the love and impending loss of self; all so very close one can almost touch them.
Also, you are welcome. Your writing softens this Dragon every time. My battles, my scars will forever be a part of me, they make me who I am – whether that is truly complete or somewhat broken. Your words touch both.
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Beautiful and heart-wrenching and painful.
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With three brushstrokes you painted a comment most welcomed.
Thank you, Dyanne.
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This one tugs on the heart strings.
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Thanks, Nicole.
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