Laying in my bed looking at my ceiling, envisioning it opening up to the night time sky with stars filling my room. I try to sleep but there is something on my mind that I just can't seem to shake.
I start to drift off to sleep by shutting my eyes, but her face reflects back to me. My photographic memory starts to over take my mind, and the memories of the times we spent together are played back like a scrap book that was put together but never finished.
There are pages missing where events should have taken place but for unforeseen circumstances they were missed out on. A tear rolls down my cheek as my body feels paralyzed to the touch and sounds of your voice. I lay there in my bed, starring up at the sky praying to God, asking for guidance and direction; but all I hear are the crashing of the waves. The waves of emotion that I am putting into this thing that has been created, this event, this moment, maybe even connection.
I need to walk in the water to know its truly there, I need to feel the sand beneath my feet to know that the path I am heading on will eventually lead me out to sea and not in a vast desert where I am left stranded with no water.
I just need to know that you're really there...
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Lunsford and writers in Poets and other communities.
Lost
Walking around looking for answers, looking into empty hallways that used to be filled with the bright light at the end. That bright light that used to bring you hope and a sense of accomplishment with every turn of the door knob. The visions of the dark empty hallway cloud your mind like a thick fog on a humid morning. Trying to find your way, looking for the light but you don't see it. Waiting to hear that horn blaring the sound of welcome like a lost ship waiting to see the lighthouse as a sign of warning. You ask yourself, why have all of the lights gone dim, why has every door to every answer you have been looking for been shut. You hear the door slam behind you, you turn around wondering what is going on.
By Tim Lunsford5 years ago in Poets
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwina day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.