Sunlight seeps through the gap between the curtains and falls upon my eyes. The birds outside the window sing their sweet melodic tune and I sigh at the peacefulness of it all. Although the curse The Kindly Ones bestowed upon us has been broken for over a month now, I still, along with everyone else in the kingdom, smile with delight when the radiant heat of the fire that hangs in the sky like a Hermetic lamp, hits my face. I roll over and find Lux still deep in his dreams. As I watch the rise and fall of his chest, I realize how simple and tranquil my life is now.
“I Love you Dear, but will you please stop watching me while I sleep.” Lux’s deep voice catches me off guard.
“Oh! I’m sorry shall I just go and slave away in the kitchen to make you a lovely cooked breakfast while you go back to your dreams?” I tease.
Lux turns on his side and stares into my eyes, his face serious. “You are my dreams, and my desires, and my world, but most you are my reality. If one day I do have a dream that I wish to come true, I will wake up and realize that everything I will ever want or need is lying in my bed next to me. Don’t you ever forget that.” He gently leans in and places a kiss upon my forehead.
I am only able to form three words after that. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Lux whispers in my ear. “However a cooked breakfast does sound good though.”
“That is never going to happen.”
Lux grins. “No, I didn’t think so, but it was worth a try.”
We lay there for a while, heads touching, wrapped in each other’s arms. When suddenly Lux pulls away and sits up.
“We should get married.” Lux declares.
“You forget Dear, we are already married.” I respond.
“Yes, but I wasn’t there. Technically you married a stone man. This wedding would ac...
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...d cruel, and we never try too hard to be cheerful,” I look up into his eyes and the rest of the world disappears, except for the light of the sun shining down on us, “But I think we have finally learned how to love.”
Lux envelopes me in his arms and we are lost in our kiss.
Three months have passed since our wedding and Lux and I are lounged on the couch in front of the fireplace soaking in its warmth. My husbands arm rests on my stomach as if it was a protective shield that will protect our baby from harm. He must have forgot though, there is nothing for him to protect us from anymore.Even though the Winter’s harsh storm rages outside, the world is at peace and I am in bliss.
“It’s a boy.” I say interrupting the silence.
“How do you know?” Lux replies.
“A mother knows.”
“Does his mother know his name yet?” Lux asks.
“I think we will name him Ignifex.”
If I were asked who the most precious people in my life are, I would undoubtedly answer: my family. They were the people whom I could lean on to matter what happens. Nonetheless, after overhearing my mother demanded a divorce, I could not love her as much as how I loved her once because she had crushed my belief on how perfect life was when I had a family. I felt as if she did not love me anymore. Poets like Philip Levine and Robert Hayden understand this feeling and depict it in their poems “What Work Is” and “Those Winter Sundays.” These poems convey how it feels like to not feel love from the family that should have loved us more than anything in the world. Yet, they also convey the reconciliation that these family members finally reach because the speakers can eventually see love, the fundamental component of every family in the world, which is always presence, indeed. Just like I finally comprehended the reason behind my mother’s decision was to protect me from living in poverty after my father lost his job.
The documentary that I viewed was called Dark Girls (Directors: Bill Duke & D. Channsin Berry, 2011). The focus was based on colorism in the African- American community and how it has impacted young girls and women. The directors provided a platform that explored the issue starting with the history of African- American culture down to the aspect of how we would need to begin to heal and overcome this prejudice.
“Ok ok, I’m going.” I reply again I slowly drift to sleep thinking of that cute girl I saw today, I think her name is Jill…
We wonder into the bedroom and crawl into the cool welcoming sheets. I shut my eyes, but not before
As I lay there resting, I closed my eyes and just soaked in the joyous sounds of the holiday. I could hear my father chatting with my grandmother, reminiscing of childhood memories and the joy of raising kids. Soft acoustic guitar melodies from the stereo sounded above the snapping and crackling of the fire. The ...
“Morning sweety, you must be famished. I have French toast!” I sat down and smiled, but still did not stop staring at Colton. He giggled,
Once he starts to love, his life starts to look up again. His and his son's love redeemed him. The more I wonder, he says, the more I love. And people start to love you back, I bet, I say. They do, he says, surprise.
“I know, but you look so lovely in my castle and your presence is overwhelming.” Pluto said.
April warps her arms around him, her hands resting in the middle of his back. She then lets her own eyes fall shut. Letting sleep finally pull her under, as
The first few lines call attention to the frost forming on the window, and the narrator hears an owl’s cry. This is our narrator’s first encounter with nature and thus begins his departure into a meditative state, in which “he contemplates the natural world outside the cottage, with the ocean, the forests, and the hills” (Constantakis). His attention is drawn back to the dying fire, which he then compares himself to. He claims that he and the fire are alike “for he sees his own thoughts as fluttering and inconsistent as well” (Constantakis).
“Very, very sensitive,” Su adds in the same voice, though her eyes and smiles are as bright as ever. “But I’m happy to see you both, too.” She reaches out to pat the young girl’s head when they’re both by her bedside.
Love is often overlooked when people are accustomed to its presence. In Robert Hayden’s poem, “Those Winter Sundays,” The narrator recalls how hard his father worked for the comfort of his family without receiving thanks. Parents express their love in indirect ways and are often underappreciated, causing a bittersweet relationship. Through diction, alliteration, and detail, the author conveys how lonely a parent’s love for their child is, and how they do not expect gratitude in return.
In the early summer mornings, when the sunshine is young and playful, inside the church another realm is born. Sitting in the back rows one can see a heavenly mist flowing though the windows and filling the sleepy altar with life and hope. It is a different dimension in the breast of an unsuspecting world. Moments such as these bring you joy and reassurance and also show you that there really is someone out there: your soul is elevated, your mind is thirsty for new experiences and your body is strengthened.
Sun relaxes and lies back down, her erratic heart rate eventually slowing. She turns her head and nearly falls off the bed when something startles her.