The DriftA Story by Alfred Kukitza way to leave yourselfHe looked back, knowingly aware that a pain, a sad long pain waited, it waited by a doorstep he had visited before, occasional whispers saying, “No, stay away, not again please”. He walked on, backwards in time, his pleas forgotten, memories coming into focus. Here at the plane of existence where lives no longer lived but breathed a certain toxicity into his mind. How did it start? Where did it all come from? He looked about in this dark places where faces meet faces saying, “Remember me”? And maybe you want to well up inside, tear, feel a little pause in your breath, come a little closer to the secret that keeps driving you to this place. A numbness follows, you swallow hard, annoyed by your own lack of conviction, courage and fortitude. You sit there breathing in the toxicity, a shadow of tears follows. What’s this? You can’t cry anymore? She belongs to memory now. Your anger and stupidity drove her away. There is nothing left but a deep sorrow within the wound of yesterday and there you wallow like the fool you are, hoping by some second chance, by some pipe dream that will leave you with another chance. They all came both love, lust and magic but soon whispers arose, lines formed into unknown places, you wondered, drifted away, further away, never really asking yourself what is this drift? © 2014 Alfred Kukitz |
StatsAuthorAlfred KukitzDeering, NHAboutYes, I'm still here. Just jazzing up my about me story. Sorry I don't die at the end. more..Writing
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