I had saved this draft of a previously offered daily word prompt, but decided I would probably never edit it enough to my liking, so here it is:
It was not the type of ceremony she had imagined attending with him. Although the ambiance was serene, it was not quite morose. She looked around them at the mourning faces of the friends and family, some with silent tears, others privately sharing blessings and anecdotes of the deceased. He placed his hand briefly on her back to signal to her that he would be stepping aside, as was customary at any occasion they attended together. She took a seat on a bench toward the back of the church and said a prayer in her head as those around her became situated.
She turned to see him conversing with a relative, and as she looked for an opportunity to go comfort him, he did not seem to posses a need of it. She could notice from her subtle glances, his knack for appropriateness in specific social situations. He was polite, lighthearted, and comforting to those around him, but he himself did not seem to benefit much from the condolences of others. Although he was a great comfort to those around him, only she could see that there was not much within him to be comforted. Her heart ached for him, not for his familial loss, but for his lack of heartache. She would be a comfort to him, she thought, even if it was in response to his disconnection, to the loss of something much greater within him. If only she had met him before, if only she had know just when his heart began to barricade itself, then maybe she could know how to comfort this greater loss.
There is something about the word “potential” lately that has stirred great irritation within me. The thought of an ability or internal opportunity lying dormant, slipping through my fingers and being lost has greatly aggravated me. I am not sure if it is the possibility for myself of missing out on being better, or doing better, or just becoming content with something (internal or external) that elicits a silent fear of mine that I am pridefully unwilling to face, or if I simply cannot deal with the idea of someone making a judgment that I am not doing my best, someone also including myself. And now that I’m sorting through these thoughts I wonder that it is my subconscious, silent fear telling me there is something I am neglecting, or ignoring, or afraid to tackle. One thing is for certain: my spirit is uneasy and “potential” is one of its trigger words.
I took a second to just write after a good while of not writing anything at all. Also, I borrowed the idea to use a word generator to get me started: Thanks Kelley! (Randomwordgenerator.com)
In retrospect, I suppose I did learn something from it all. I learned how much I actually valued myself, despite the frequent commentary I received from friends and family about my possibly low self esteem. I also realized just how much I keep trying to find my joy in earthly promises, in this case the universal promise to find someone to fall in love with and validate my worth with constant attention and gestures. I found that I am quick to neglect the commitment I made as a child to the one Love that has never left or failed me, in the face of a potential fulfillment of such promise. However, I could also argue that I am the same proud, pining, emotional wreck that I was almost two years ago, sitting in my bedroom hurt one moment and furious the next, and eventually at peace with the impending demise of my romantic relation. Nevertheless, I choose to see the lining as silver, and I will be content with the thought that as long as I have memories to look back on, and experiences to willfully learn from, I will not have steered from my divine plan and have reason yet to rejoice, (cue butterflies and chirping birds).
Daily word: Retrospective
Was he guilty of all the things my cynicism and insecurities accused him of? Was I guilty of barring myself enough to possibly prevent a deepening of his affection for me? Am I guilty of making excuses for him and blaming myself for his frequent indifference and selfishness? How am I to know how we are each to blame for where we now stand? For surely we are both accountable, but in what ways? And if we were to pinpoint each of our many faulty behaviors, would we be able to salvage the connection of two strangers who became close friends in one night?
She was top of the line, you could say. Beautiful, graceful, talented, successful, cultured, and voiced opinions praised by her admirer. She had almost everything he could have desired, and she looked up to him, as most women did. He loved this. Whether it was the distance, her career, or a fade in interest (by either side), resulted in their split, assuming there was sustenance enough in the relation to split (forgive me for my knowledge on the subject is clearly lacking), frankly I am not sure. However, I heard of this woman enough times to know their was a slight bitterness, possibly regret about it all for him, although his speeches proclaimed quite the opposite. It is possible that he still longed for her; for her sound, look, and pedigree. However up to this point it did not seem the both of them could get what they wished, whatever it was each wished for. And that is as much as I can conclude of the matter as of now.
Observe the efforts, or lack thereof, Observe the touches, or cold habits, Observe the sincerity with which they speak, or the forced words that are released,
Observe the tendencies more common than not,
Observe the hellos, goodbyes, and moments forgot,
Observe the efforts, or lack thereof, and take care of the words you perceive as love.
No two lives are alike. Though they all long for one destination, each of us must take our own course. We cannot walk side by side the same person forever, nor can we retrace every step behind another. We are each one of us set out in the crowd, to revive a world set on mirroring the last or striving equally to be different. Know that there are many out there who parallel your efforts, and if you would simply be yourself, you would not have to try half as hard to set a new bar.
…I was told to write without ceasing, not to write well.