Category Archives: Shorts

WEATHER LOVE

This poem flowed from a stream of messages. I think it’s beautiful when creativity happens that way. Enjoy.

INMON Prompt: Fight to Remember 

We’re snow on a tree.

It’s not going to last.

But it looks so beautiful there.

People stop and stare.

See us everywhere.

And when we melt.

I’ll know what I felt.

When there’s only wet wood hanging there.

Stuck between awake and blinking.

An unreal state of being.

We wanted the dream.

But can’t control what’s fleeting.

She’ll take what is.

Twist into the resemblance of a friend.

And try to outrun what might have been.

He’ll warm her inside out.

Until the wood turns to flowers again.

They’ll fight to remember.

And forget the fangs of that biting weather.

A season of which Shakespeare couldn’t have written better.

-Written by: Andy McNamara and Page Whalen

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ANGEL WATCH

Well, I’m finally getting back into the INMON thing! This week’s prompt was the phrase “ANGEL WATCH.”I kind of switched it up with a little past tense. Enjoy 🙂InMONster

ANGEL WATCH

Waiting in the wings, she abruptly understood why he disappeared. He left to fly under her radar. But not in the way a missing person goes missing against their will. He no longer wanted to be a blip on her screen. He silently slipped back into the arms of a comfortable lover; too happy, too scared, to tell her the truth.

In the beginning, he knew he would leave her in the limbo between mutual understanding and owed explanation. Because he kept her at arms length, in the end, she would be swept far away in the hurricane of lost potential. He knew he would owe her no reason for leaving if he continued using smoke and mirrors and fed her a bourgeois fiction.

“But eventually, she would be alright,” he convinced himself. So, he hid, a wolf in a black sheep’s clothing.

And he spoke with a mysterious caress and a shadow of care in his eyes. These were real, but she could never harness them. He had nothing to lose, and everything to go back to.

People are capable of make-believe, just as she too was capable of the charade. Had she not broken someone in the same way?

As ANGELS WATCHED from the clouds, she misled one of their own into the deceptive security of her arms. Once hooked on her ability to hide her fragmented feelings – the ones she herself could not piece together properly – she made sure his wings were clipped, just enough, as to not leave her alone. With her expertise, she trusted she had allowed him the illusion of flight.

But things that do not want to be captured have their ways of slipping silently through clasped fingers. She never really held him in the first place.

An absence of doubt distorts the truth.

He felt his wings growing back slowly. So, he played along and allowed her to believe his desires matched her own. She stayed blinded by those mornings in the sun rays that would pass light through his eyes. The afterglow hid his intentions well.

History. Mutual love. Mutual loss. These hold people together. They create the strings that wrap around time and space, but those strings will always be tied between those attached at the ends. Fleeting connections made in short hours spent together are like spider’s webs that blow away with a new day.

Another lesson shaped by karma and the spells of time.

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STINGING NETTLES

This is a story about crossroads, and the immense role time plays in relationships. They grow, they evolve, or they end. In this piece, the relationship is ending and the narrator is powerless. There is beauty and pain in letting go and moving on. That’s what I was trying to capture in this story. Can you relate?


Since you left, I am half of myself. Still intoxicated by the lingering idea of you. These memories keep me up at night. Hours fuse together. Feelings are a Bonnie and Clyde battle. So caught up in what used to be, I can’t let go.

I’m fighting a good fight. My soul longed to be loved in the only way you loved me. You came into my life, and I was yours.

There are never tears as I struggle to remember. Etched into my mind, love-induced conversations, that passionate fire in your eyes…A blue I never experienced before. The kind of blue you dream about. Not one of the 64 crayons in my box could ever replicate.

Colors became feelings. Smells, nostalgic memories. Your smell – a heat of sandalwood, sweat, the faint smell of smoke on your cheeks, I offered one kiss.

How it felt when you held me… The way your hands are so strong – worked and weathered –so gentle –they traced intricate words you wouldn’t speak onto my naked skin. The goose bumps always gave me away, but I knew everything you didn’t want me to.

Juxtaposition became an ode to our relationship.

Tender/Fighter. Whole/Broken. Wise/Naïve. Lover/Protector. Your person/My person. Exhilarating/Devastating. Healer/Gangrenous Wounds.

Finally, vulnerable, I fell hard. I couldn’t hide what I was feeling. Your knowing eyes couldn’t hide the connection. Our pasts intertwined.

Trusting so much in my feelings for you. The marrow of my bones run cold every time you open a door, turn a corner, glance across the room. Are you really here?

Days pass, and precious memories become wisps in my mind. We knew each other in past lives. Intricately, indescribably bound we “got to know each other,” so much that it hurt. I knew you, you knew me, love never gave way to lust.

Our memories are more difficult to retain, easier to release, most painful to watch dissipate…Out of my control. A terrible duality of resigning to the inevitable and holding on to sacred hope.

I’m approaching the summit. I fight the ascent without grace. My body dragging as the universe silently, knowingly, fights back. I am powerless. Every minute, second, day, I fight against the inevitable. Once I reach the peak, the seriousness of the descent will take over. You will be gone and I will descend on my own.

With you, I feared nothing. I consented to happiness. Hopelessly accepted.

We. The center of the universe. No one could touch us.

All or nothing. We were all. We were nothing.

I would jump off this mountain for a second chance to grow back in love with you. Let’s stoke the fire, whisper the sun into a star dying too soon.

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A LETTER TO 2014

jeu d’esprit…

Dear 2014,

This letter it extremely difficult for me to write…but, it’s time we moved on. We are toxic to each other, and that’s not healthy for my future. Don’t get me wrong; I will always appreciate the good times we had together. After all, we were a growing year, weren’t we?

As a wise companion, and without my knowledge, you skillfully allowed the time and space necessary for me to grow and understand what I want and what I need. You also graciously provided the crucial support systems I needed during difficult periods of “growth.” As a friend, you revealed some pretty fun parts of me I didn’t know existed. Like my new-found loves of guitar, ‘chewy’ wine collecting, yoga, live music, cheap sunglasses, and spicy jalapeno margaritas. As my coach, you encouraged my internal strength under the most pressing of circumstances, and cheered me on as I accomplished goal after goal sans ideal conditions…

Perhaps most importantly, you revealed that it is okay to accept the undesirable actions of others. Most of these moments are not a reflection on who I am as a person. Many times they are simply a manifestation of the troubles they are going through [it truly is not all about me after all…tough life lesson ;)]. In this lesson, you also taught me how much energy I gave to the negatives, and how rarely I stopped to acknowledge the good things going on around me. I learned how to express my gratitude more often to those who demonstrated kindness, and I will continue to do so. Nevertheless, many times I allowed the negatives to overshadow the positives, but it enabled me to accept my insecurities and quirks – to own them – because those smudges and diamonds are what make me, me. That is a beautiful thing.

2014, you taught me how to trust my friends. That it is a demonstration of strength, not of weakness, to be vulnerable around people. I learned how to be proud of my self-worth, and to stop selling myself short. You showed me how much I have to offer and to give – to those in my life, but especially to myself. Not to mention how far I can push – and pull – even when I believe there’s no power or hope of effort left in my tank.

Well, like I said before, our relationship has fulfilled its purpose. You showed me that I don’t have to live with the shadow of incomplete love, or the feeling of inadequacy in my life. Now I believe I don’t have to settle for anything less than my highest expectations, and I do not have to restrict or negate my best interests in the name of selflessness. This year I felt the magic of feeling supported in a job I love, the gratitude and the comfort of fully trusting someone, and the mysteries of feeling completely loved again. I met someone inspiring…2015.

2015 and I will accomplish great things together. 2014, even with all the good things we experienced together…the time has come for you to go F*** yourself (quote of the year, apparently!). I have outgrown you. It is time for 2015 and I to have our way with the world.

New Year, Better Me. Cheers!

With an open heart,

~Page in 2015

New Year, Better Page

“The ultimate lesson all of us must learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others, but ourselves as well.”

– E. Kubler-Ross


 

 

 

 

New Year’s Resolutions:

Every year I plan on writing down my resolutions, and I always forget because I think they’re ridiculous. BUT, 2014 was a year of growth and change…SO, I’m writing down some goals and aspirations I have already started working on. I think it’s important to hold myself accountable and continue to work toward these goals in 2015.

  • Read for pleasure: the books in my personal library need some good ol’ fashion page turnin’. With graduate school and work, carving out time to read for FUN is sometimes downright impossible. But I’ve already started making reading a bigger priority…and I want to continue to do so.
  • Achieve some athletic dreams: PR in a Half-Ironman and finally finish a full Ironman. Maybe qualify for Boston again…but truthfully I would like to travel and run marathons in different states.
  • Write more often: …because it makes me happy.
  • Get some real guitar lessons: I am not great at teaching myself!
  • Travel more often: ….because wanderlust.
  • Continue trusting in people, their abilities, their decisions, and their hearts.

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Not Your Average Valentine

For this post I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could squeeze two prompts into one post. Something I will affectionately call a “two-fer.” This weeks’ post is in response to a Daily Post Writing Challenge, and an InMON prompt.

The Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge Prompt: “You’re an intergalactic visitor who just happened to land on Earth on February 14. Describe the weirdness you’re seeing.” 

Inspiration Monday Prompt: “Yesterday’s News” 

Please enjoy my interpretation of the prompts. Happy reading!

“I know I remembered the truth once, I can feel it…but my memories are fuzzy…like yesterday’s news…” The words escaped and I regretted them immediately. I had acknowledged that something had happened; now they wouldn’t stop bringing in the recorder until I told them the truth. Whatever that was.

The recorder tape kept spinning. I watched the two wheels turn behind their clear shell and tried to count the rotations, which only caused my eyes to tear and go hazy. Instead, I broke my gaze and focused on the tattered piece of tape with a date typed in bright red…February 14.

“Funny,” I thought, “Valentine’s Day with my date…the recorder. You don’t talk much to do?”

I smiled, but my mind was conflicted. I knew I should continue. Didn’t want to waste tape because of my hesitation. Technology was valuable…But I didn’t want to revisit memories I’m sure were hidden for a reason.

“I know I should go back, to figure out what’s true, but how can I when I don’t know the whole story…All I have are these pieces of…feeling…nothing really. Not anything I could use to help, anyway.” I cracked my knuckles, loudly, a nervous habit. But why was I nervous? I sat on my hands to keep them still. My legs bounced up and down instead.

Hunched over, I looked at the recorder on the table. The continuous spinning made me self-conscious. Who would listen to me? All I knew were those who came into my room daily. Stone-faced physicians who thought I was crazy anyway. I guess for good reason. I was called in because of the chunk of time missing from our collective memory. And they wanted to help me…get the time back? Find the truth?

“You’re looking for the truth, right? What happened during the missing time…but I can’t give that to you. It’s not my fault,” I stammered, “I can’t remember!” I sounded angry…too loud…it was pointless to yell. I was alone. In a room. With a table, a chair, white walls, and my funny valentine, the recorder.

My legs were bouncing too hard now to be comfortable in my position. Releasing my hands, I stood, grabbed the recorder and hurled it against the wall. I loved the sound the pieces made as they ricocheted against the walls. The spinning subsided…

How did I do on my first “two-fer” prompt challenge?! Also, what do YOU want to read next?

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The Choice

Prompt for the week: …”whenever I hear it, I think of you…”

“Here, grab the noose.” He smiled. I cringed. The coils hung lightly in his hands. I looked into his eyes and searched for a way out. “There’s no other way,” he said, voice shaking. His eyes were kind. I trusted him. I lifted the rope out of his hands, they were heavier than I expected. Filled with a weight I didn’t understand. I walked slowly, deliberately, to the hanging place, and swung the rope across the branch. The sound it made, rope against wood, sickened me. I turned to him, “whenever I hear it, I think of you.” “I know,” he sighed.

Image

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All for What?

Prompt for the week: …”what does it taste like…”

Roughly, he pushed his hands down to the bottom of the all but empty feed barrel. I watched him as he struggled, his body hunched over in a sweaty mass as the sun beat down on his bedraggled frame. He labored to get the last bits of food for the herd out of the bucket. I ached for him, but I wanted him to finish the job. As he stood, successful scoop in hand, he delivered the feed for the hungry and modest flock. I wondered to myself, “What does it taste like?” and hoped it was worth Imagethe fight, for them.

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