The Gossamer Ph[r]ase.

First of a few.

 

My dress held the waves of black seas, the white crests of lace bundling together and apart. My corset tied my sanity together, each knot representing the order and composure I was meant to maintain. By appearance only. The waves rested its tumultuous assault against my legs, the spring breeze with its playful sprites winding down its childish game. Once the black seas silenced I floated down onto the grassy hilltop, overlooking the field of wildflowers blazing its trail of carnage beautifully. The view was so...intangible. It stirred my emotions while emptying my heart. I pulled the binding ribbon that held my hair into its over styled coif away from me, twisting the ribbon around my neck to create a makeshift necklace. I released the silken tresses and calmed them down into a presentable yet comfortable style.

These locks, black since birth but lightened in the light, they are magnificent and they are mine. They give me hope. The hope to believe in dreams such as ballrooms filled with suitors vying for my attention. The hope to see the life of a princess turned Queen, respected and loved. The role model of elegance, intelligence and beauty. A most sophisticated young ruler that can only bring forth the beneficial and prosperous reign that they are hoping for.

These locks, black since birth but camouflaged by the night, they are lost and they are free. They frighten me. They remind me of my easy plunge into the deepest depths of that fear. That complete immersion that happens all too suddenly and suffocates me all too well. I can’t help but submerge myself into the paranoia of silly whims. The images...they rush at me like the insects of a plague wishing to crawl over and under me. They are the swarm...the monsters underneath my bed.

I shuddered, the wind returning in the form of a elemental, demonstrating its power, demanding the admiration of those around. It is only a matter of time before I fall prey to its will. Falling apart like ragdolls.

Author's Note

It's fleeting.

Reviews

[Dietrich von Crowe]

Ah... you know me; you know that I will not sit here and tell you how beautiful everything is and leave it at that; I have criticisms. But this here has left me with mouth agape.

Your words are very lyrical, love. They flow in ways that tie every image and sense together. Not only is your imagery meticulous, but so are your symbols and metaphors... This is an example of beauty. This is an example of what writing should resemble, no, what literature resembles.

Good literature... begs to be read again...and again... and again... and again, so that you may find something more to each part. And yet I read this in so many ways and so many times... and each pause is a breath of fresh air.

You need to write.