Should Have Stood Up

In omission, one can lie; such baited silence, emotions contained. Neglected by conscious minds.

 

It's a never-ending story, one paused by the closure of the book but ongoing in spirit; reader's revolt led writer's tongue tied. A story like a fingerprint, a heartbeat, culmination of half a year before the collaborative creation split. Ended in a day; ended in a fraction of that.

 

Tremors after the quake took time to permeate, perception problems prevented processing; delayed-action in the vacuum left wounds open but frozen, neither festering nor healing. Months passed before waves brought a bottle to shore. One last message, a final exchange, one last opportunity: story's end in sight.

 

In omission, one can lie; such baited silence, emotions contained. Neglected by conscious minds.

 

Kindness ill suited to the nature of things; forgiveness undeserved and given without hindsight aforethought. Words made, in time, bitter on the tongue and harsh on the eyes. Reader's generosity met writer's apathy; writer's words wielded as a master, shielding and redirecting reader's regrets. Deflection, again, kept the story alive. Regrets addressed but not atoned, excuses in place of conversation but one line rose above all others: I wish you stood up to me.

 

The frost rose once again, the wound still open; infection infested in stasis. It remained as such for a time until heated unexpectedly. Life is strange that way. In consented trauma reader returned rightfully to their place: As writer of stories their own. Through hel's flames, another's, their own; certainty's concoction brewed; with picture imperfect, the groundwork set, the collage it did take shape; the year may have been broken, with no clear ending, but now one has been written.

 

Never forgotten, never forgiven but no ill will is held; for hate is too big an emotion to be wasted on someone not present. Where once was love, only apathy remains, emotions desecrated by pain. The year now closed, to pastures new, stories yet to be told; upon the petals of poppies blue, hope did return.

 

In omission, one can lie; such baited silence, emotions contained. By conscious minds understood.