Posts Tagged regrets

If It’s the Last Thing I Do

The Last thing

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Mewler?… Mewler?… Mewler?

I was dreaming… one of those dreams that felt so real I couldn’t decide if I was asleep or awake. You know, total nonsense, but making sense; vague, but somehow crystal clear; characters straight out of Alice In Wonderland, but they seemed to know every intimate detail about me.

The guy at the head of the table was huge, sitting, but looking like he was standing up at the table, and the knife he held in his left fist had a long, wide, gleaming blade. The fork he was white-knuckling in his right hand was glowing red and looked like a pitch fork, minus the wood handle. Drool hung on his chin and the corners of his lips were specked with wet gray matter.

A bowl sat in front of a guy at the other end of the table; he was dipping a finger into the bowl, then licking it, as his eyes darted from me to the big guy. He made a pitiful mewling sound, then lifted the bowl to his face and began licking it clean.

It was an odd looking bowl; pinkish in color, a smooth, round, bottom, and a ring of what appeared to be gray hair around the top of it. When the bowl was thoroughly cleaned, the mewler—he was good-looking in a Clark Kent sort of way; smaller and obviously more mild-mannered than the guy at the other end of the table—put it in front of me and gave me a knowing wink.

Letters began to appear on his shirt one at a time and I watched in rapt fascination as they spelled out S-H-O-U-L-D-H-A-V-E-S. I had a vague sense of what the words meant, but, strangely, the discerning seemed to emanate from my chest rather than my head. I felt strangely light-headed, as I slowly turned toward the big guy at the other end of the table.

My heart cried out as letters appeared on his stained shirt, spelling out, W-H-A-T-I-F-S, the ache in my chest like a vise, as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

Mewler whined from his end of the table, “Is that all there is?” 

Should Haves

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I Should

I know people who live with anger, hate, and bitterness so entrenched in their mind and heart they cannot see good in anything. Their life is one of misery, devoid of joy and peace. It pains me to see them so, because I know what it’s like; I’ve been there. But there’s nothing I can do for them; one has to cast off his own demons. It’s a personal thing. Read the rest of this entry »

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A Soaking Event

I had a brief conversation with a FaceBook friend this morning; he’d posted that he was going to watch his grandsons play baseball today. A familiar pain touched my heart as I was once again reminded how far away my grandsons are. I’ve missed almost all of those games and, too, simply just being with them–around them–as they grew up. This poem describes one of the precious few times I was able to see them doing what little boys do… playing in the water hose on a hot summer day…. Read the rest of this entry »

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