There's this old cliche: When God closes a door, he always opens a window. We've all heard it. It's supposed to mean that things are never as bad as you think; that there's another way out of this mess, just think outside the box.
But not if you're me.
Honestly, I can hardly tell when a "door closes" because I'm too busy sneaking out the window. Oh yes, windows lead to possibilities. It teases me relentlessly. It's not covered by a think wooden barrier and a lock and bolt.
Windows are vulnerable and adventurous; covered in flimsy shades or loosely hanging draperies, all of which (mind you), you do not have to close like a door. You can cool hot food in front of it, let the summer breeze drift in with the sound of a rainstorm. You can wave politely at strangers as the world goes by, or grow a climbing garden with the scent of lavender and rosemary.
Sure, it's HARDER to exit and enter through the window, but you can see much more than walking through the front door.
The ink roared--a raging river--
came pouring out of its mouth.
Some regrets, not many,
wanting a voice
among the faceless pages.
through the cracks and
tripping over crevices,
dragging its torn body,
making a statement
that many choose to ignore.
The wind whispers secrets as old as the ocean, in a language even the breeze has forgotten.
The words sinuously slither through the branches of trees that scrape across the sky, trying to puncture holes in the ice crystals. Pouring ice cold memories down our backs.
And skips across the waves and ripples of water, frozen in time, like a ghost that merrily glides along the ice... lost in the forgotten tune they hum.
It's foreign tongue licks the back of our necks, like wounds, speaking to our bones as they rattle in the awesome chill of comforting pain.
Though we never admit to feeling it.
"A Song of Life" Book Trailer! This is the second book in the Song for You series.
The international book cover for "A Song of Life" to be release March 9, 2017!
The ebook cover for "A Song of Life" to be released March 9, 2017. You can preorder it on Amazon by clicking here.
I left you
YOU left me
puddled in tears
soaking & cold in
the water of my fears.
YOU left me to
drown in self-doubts.
So many nights
soaked in our shouts.
YOU left your
stinger beneath my skin
leeching your poison
YOU embraced me
with an empty smile
then left me alone
to clean your heaping pile.
YOU lost interest in
the things I did to keep you,
there wasn't anything
I wouldn't do.
YOU turned your back
on our altar of promises;
lacking passion in touch,
a mister but not a misses.
Not too long ago
I left YOU
to your distractions...
me, no longer shiny & new.
"Just kidding!" said the sun
and laughed with the clouds
as they threw raindrops our way.
The weather report whispered
rumors to the forecaster,
darting their eyes at us, accusingly.
The wind pushed us around
like bullies in a fighting ring
tenderizing the muscle of courage.
The sky grew dark and heavy--
a black eye, swelling around
a vision of naivety.
And we walked home
waiting for the night to envelope
the lost hope of today.
Scott Mullins of This Is Writing asked me a few questions about writing and my book. Follow the link and take a gander! thisiswriting.com/author-interviews-megan-rivers-fateful-melody/
I recently wrote an article for This Is Writing about the lessons I learned publishing as an Indie Author. Follow the link and check it out: thisiswriting.com/becoming-indie-author-lessons-learned-megan-rivers/
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10. That's all he gave me. Ten minutes to sort my thoughts and make life altering choices. Only ten minutes. How can I do this? How do I organize my thoughts--my life!--in 600 seconds?
9. One minute down and nine to go. How did I waste that trip around the clock freaking out and doing something as trivial as breathing? Focus. I've been gifted these last minutes. I need to try and clear my mind. Focus. I got this.
8. Ah! Already one-fifth of my time is gone--how is it that now I can do math? Work with me, brain! Oh, geez. He's staring at me, counting down the seconds I bet. I can't work like this!
7. No. Stop. I need to stop focusing on the sweat on my temples and how slippery my palms have become. Oh, be quiet heartbeat! I know you're there, no need to get louder! This stuff won't matter in the end, so focus. Focus! What's important to remember? Out of my entire existence, what mattered?
6. I wish I could stop the tears from forming. These precious moments are slipping away! Why can't I make my brain work--make these last minutes count? Is this what goes through the head of those that came before me? The pressure!
5. Half of the time I've been allotted is gone?! Where did those precious seconds go? His eyes are staring at me again. He can't wait until the countdown finishes so he can do away with me and call it a day. STOP IT. FOCUS.
4. I swear I can hear every clock ticking faster and faster, as if the world is against me. Why can't I do this? Why is it so hard to focus under this pressure? Why can't I find a way out? Why has my brain shut down?
3. Oh, geez! The panic! Stop it. Stop panicking!. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to ten slowly to steady breathing. One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten...
2. WHAT? CALMING BREATHS TOOK TOO LONG! How is this possible? My life is over! It's going to end! How could there be a chance at life after this? What am I going to do? Why can't I focus?!
1. Sixty seconds. Oh god! He's staring me down, getting closer. His eyes are dark and disappointed. Just ignore him. Focus! Breathe. Focus! Breathe. Focus! Focus! Focus!
"Time is up," he says with a sinister grin. His voice slicing through the silence.
I am alone in the room, the only one left.
"Pencils down. Turn in your final exam." He points to his desk, impatiently.
Gulping with a dry mouth and shaky hands I stand.
To meet my fate.
His kisses shuffle like
clumsy hands on a deck of cards,
playing 52-card pick-up
with the pieces of my heart.
He was not the king.
I was unimportant,
not a face card;
insignificant and low in value.
I was never an ace or queen--
perhaps a 3 of spades--
playing into his straight
jacket of illusion.
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