A couple of written dabbles: Loneliness & Chains

Below are a couple of quick written dabbles I wrote when I feeling a bit down. I don't quite know what to do with them--whether or not to build upon them or leave them as they are. In the end, I figured I'd just post them up here.

When dreams cease to be enough to sustain me and the loneliness becomes too much to bear… 

When the tears fall unguarded and the fragile glue no longer hold together the pieces of my heart… 

Do I give up on this colorless world and find my own shades of happiness in a different realm?

This one is really short and I really like the language usage, but I can't see where to go with it. So, it's been sitting on my hard drive for quite a while.

I wish I could break free of these chains that bind me.

I wish I could get rid of the pain in my heart.

If only I could fulfill all of these unfulfilled desires…

If only I could be liberated.

I’m lost in a sea of conflicting emotions and I pray to be saved.

Is happiness possible or is it an improbability?

Will I ever be the one to make decisions about my life and how I choose to live it?

Or will I forever remain a puppet on barb-wire strings?

Strings that cut and bleed, each time I try to defy the puppeteers.

Cuts that bleed and hurt as I try to go my own way.

Hurting and a broken heart as I try to be true to me.

A Broken heart and a living death because I’m starting to tire from the fight…

Death –have finally given up.

This one is longer, but I feel as if it doesn't flow quite right. I don't know how or where to make any changes though. As you can see, poetry isn't really my forte. I'm more of a prose kind of gal. ^___^

Anyway, until next time. I still have quite a bit of pictures I'd like to share and I'll get to them soon!

Love,
Tuma

Hearst Tower - NYC

 

Author’s Note: Think of this as a funky apartment building, even though it’s the Hearst Tower in NYC. I’ve always had an interest in other people’s home life. I’m curious about the things that happen behind other’s close doors. Do the siblings fight as much as I do with mine? Do the parents get along or do they fight? Etc etc. I guess you could say, I’m just nosy as hell! Below is the first of a series of dabbles I'm planning on writing about. We'll see if I actually get to all of 'em! ^____^ Enjoy as always. And please do comment.

Room 102: Father comes home from work and finds his small children are home all alone.

He turns the key and unlocks the door, shouldering his way in, hands full of his briefcase and a bag of treats for the children. As soon as he steps inside, he feels that something is wrong. The silence is out of place for a home with 3 children, ages two, five and six. The usual sounds of Liz finishing up dinner, Kate playing house with her dolls, Mike having a wild police chase with his matchbox cars and Sammie tottering to greet his “da da” aren’t present. A strange and sudden fear grips his heart as he drops his bags at the door and begins calling their names. “Liz… Katie, where are you darling?” “Michael… Sam, can you boys hear me?” With each repetition of their names, his anxiety quickly transforms to panic, making it harder to draw a breath. Suddenly, he stops and sharply turns his head. He’s heard something…a muffled sniffle coming from the Master bedroom. He slowly makes his way inside, straining to hear something… anything, as he stands still in the center of the room. There, he hears it again. The muffled sound of someone afraid of being heard is coming from the walk-in closet. He walks over cautiously with one hand outstretched to grab hold of the knob and slowly inches the door open. The sight revealed to him, is one that grabs him by the heart and squeezes painfully. His Kate, his Mike and his Sam—are huddled together on the floor of the closet with tear-tracks staining each of their beautiful faces. “D-daddy,” his oldest Kate says brokenly. “Mommy… mommy left”. And she begins to cry, her little brothers following her lead. And that’s when he notices the vastness of the half-empty closet open before him. As his children cry and his own tender heart breaks, he comes to the realization that the large partly empty closet, in which the four of them are huddled, is filling up—with the sorrow of children losing their mother and a man losing his wife, the confusion and anger of her leaving without a word, the fear of something having happened to the kids, the love he has for his children and the strength to go on because of that love.

 

Photos & Writing Dabbles

Hey guys!

I thought I'd try something new today. In addition to being a photography, I also like to think myself a writer! haha It was like 4am last Saturday night (or morning), when the 100 watt light bulb in the head lit up brightly. Couldn't I put my two loves together--writing and photography, by writing dabbles, short narratives to accompany my photos? Below is the trial run for this idea and this isn't quality work, just short and fun!


Photo & Dabble #1: B&W photograph taken & developed in an Intro to B&W Photography course that I took in Fall 2010.

She stood there waiting –still and lost in thought, allowing the world to continue moving without notice. Her body have remained firmly in the present, as she waited for the next train home, but her mind and memories had drifted to a time long past. She daydreamed of a different reality—of a happier, freer time full of bright laughter. She relived years of joyful births, of sigh-worthy first and sixth loves of her life, of heart-wrenching loss and pangs of longing. The train rushed into the station, she blinked and the visions cleared, jolting her back into reality. With a deep breath and a smile full of so many conflicting emotions, she pushes her cart full of groceries for tonight’s dinner through the closing doors and continued onward as there were more vital memories yet to make.

 Photo & Dabble #2: Digital Pic of a flower. Taken as I walked to Chelsea Piers in NY on 4/25/2011.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled. Underneath the soft floral scent of the flower, she could smell the annoyance, then the guilt. She could sense the bit of anxiety as “Testosterone meets “Flora”. She could almost picture the scene—the sudden sight of the red & yellow flower and knowing it was perfect; the rush to the counter and the exchange of money for product; the dash to her office; sneaking it onto her desk and the hurried note with two simple words—“Sorry, Babe”. And she smiled again.

Well, that it for now! As always please comment and tell me what you think! Ciao!