I had lived nearly two centuries before I found myself in this place, in this moment, dying over and over again. Why do I keep waking up? How have I survived this long? How is it that my heart has stopped beating and yet I am still here in this pseudo reality? Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance ages ago; and in that act, a prayer went up so earnest, so… instinct with better light let in by death, that life was blotted out not so completely. I had become immortal; I had become changed; I had passed through death, and come out the other side.
Continued in The Art of War
We had an eternity together; we planned an eternity together, and yet, here I am… without her, my eternity a watery grave and perpetual death far removed from her. There is no life without her – not for me. Or maybe… maybe this is all just indicative of what it means to be without her.
Concluded in The Art of Being Human
A great rumbling shakes the earth under our feet, starting low and slowly building momentum. It’s not violent or threatening, or the kind of motion that would cause me to seek cover. It almost feels as if nature is signaling a completion, the last tremors of a fever that has broken.
I don’t know why I do this anymore, but something in me is compelled to stay alive. Call it survival instinct, or maybe even a touch of narcissism, but my mind won’t let me fade away. So I seek forms of escapism: alcohol, sex, and digressing in a shitty WeHo bar, one of the few I’m certain is safe from familiar eyes. If I can’t be destroyed, I might as well drown away any true sense of self.
Continued in Where Do We Go From Here
A lot can happen in four months. Lives can change; people can heal; people can grow; a heart that was shattered beyond repair can somehow be puzzled back together if you have the fortitude and desire to reset piece after piece with infinite care. But is it ever really whole? Or will you always worry that even a small gusting draft will be just enough to scatter it to the wind? Is this how heart transplant patients feel; they’re so grateful for the second chance at life that they’re too scared to grab ahold of it and live it to the fullest? Is that how love is? Yes, I think that’s what love is like, at least when you’ve been broken, at least when you’re Bette Porter.
Continued in The First Step is Always the Hardest
It’s all I can do to tear my eyes away from her own so I can walk with her down this aisle, neither of us leading, neither of us following, but walking together, facing whatever comes together, complete and true equals in the life we will build together and live together.
Continued in But it’s the Only Way to Reach the Second Step
When you love someone, you should yell it from the highest mountain so it can be recognized and sanctified. You shouldn’t just be proud to love your spouse; you should be reconciled to love her unconditionally. You should make a commitment that is impossible to break; but most importantly, you should have the faith and confidence in your love that boasts of embracing harsh consequences should you manage to somehow fail.
Continued in Through a Glass Darkly
I’ve spent most of my life living like I’m invincible, like nothing that happened in life could touch me. I was arrogant because I had built the walls around myself so high that I thought nothing could possibly breach them. I knew it was foolhardy to love someone, to let them in. My walls were strong enough but I was too weak to keep them up, not in the shining face of my beloved, my wife, my Tina.
Continued in Hope is a Waking Dream
Love is the only power that can overcome any obstacle, right any wrong, and transcend even the finality of death, because it is utterly honest.
Continued in Make a Choice, Take a Chance, and Just Hold On
Make a Choice, Take a Chance, and Just Hold On
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 13
(Book 7 of 10)
Is it all chance, or is there cause? I’ve never been one to sit and wait and hope that everything falls into place. I’ve always tried to evoke, to make, to do. But the older I become, the more I learn; and though it seems like too much at once sometimes, all of the things we go through, these cruel teachers, they are important to the outcome of choices and chances.
Continued in Life Lingers and Hope Endures
She has to wake up, get up, be alive! She doesn’t move and I cover my mouth with a trembling hand to keep the roiling contents of my guts inside. Her dark hair is splayed out around her bronze face, her eyes empty and devoid of life, her chin jutted out – proud even in death, and the blood… there’s so much of her blood ballooning out around her… covering her arms, stomach, and legs in a crimson pool that’s coagulating beneath her cooling body.
Continued in But Only Love Lasts Forever
Who am I? I asked that question just two days ago, and now I can say unequivocally that I truly know. I am a mother and a child, a wife and a paramour, a protector and a refugee, a lover and a fighter, but most of all, I’m human – flesh and blood tightly wrapped around a framework of bones and controlled by synapses that fire randomly through a small organ that cannot comprehend its own existence or operation.
Concluded in Turning Page
(Book 10 of 10)
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from, and I can feel it deep down in these old, weary bones, from here on my deathbed, that this approaching end is only the beginning.