I thought everything was perfect. I thought what we had would evolve into a holy, Christian relationship. But things didn't turn out that way.

I'm not quite sure what happened, but I literally came home from vacation to find myself no longer in love. I thought this was the end of everything, and I could just move on without any pain- just cut the red ribbon that had tied my heart to his for so long.

Turns out that wasn't the case, and July began a very long process of letting go, pulling back, and finally, crying my first love away. It had been a long process.

I sat, fingers twitching on the keyboard keys, occasionally writing a bit, deleting it always, most of the time still.  The bane of all those who love pen and paper, who are drawn to the written word and agonize over each and every sound as it slips from the tongue to the air.
Writer's Block

Ahhhhh.

Here I am, Tuesday afternoon. I have a scant half hour of internet time, then (if my sister Caroline doesn't wake up from her nap) an hour of writing on the computer in  my brother's room. And I haven't posted on ApricotPie yet this month, so here I am.

Dedicated to Ray Peters, who went Home January 18, 2011

You've met the journey's end, my friend
You've left me here alone
You don't know what you've meant to me
You don't know how much of Him you've shown

Perserverance is a virtue,

Obtainable by all,

Requiring no gift but this -

That one must

Try and

        Try and

                 Try again

When all has failed

      Or shall fail,

And prospects murky deep,

To cling to that thread of almost-lost hope,

And climb the glass mountain again.

<I was taking a walk by a lake near my home, watching the small pools of water lap away at the edges of the ice, when the words 'slow little ice-melting trickle' popped into my head. Here's the finished product. ~L.W.>

The slow little ice-melting trickle,

Liquifying that haughty stone,

That stands in cold white defiance,

Ignoring Winter's call to her own.

Canto VII:  Next
Like Weston on Malacandra
I have no clue
what will happen next
But I want it to happen
very much

Vilinye skips
down the aisles
“Arkn, Arkn!”

A man steps into view
He wears a long robe
embroidered with roses

“Roni’ith!”
she squeals
“You’re dressed
like one of the Roni’im!”

Like her story?
I can see that now
But the man’s face
is so familiar
“Arnold Knutson?”

He winks
“One of my names.”

I get up wilst the earth still hides the life-giving sun.

It is ever so dark, to rise from my warm bed so early is truly not fun.

But I roll out to touch my feet against the freezing concrete that is my floor.

It is abominably chilly on my feet.

My toes curl, desperate to retain heat.

But I get up,  just to see him.

I know he will drive up to the mountains with us.

And so I wake while the earth is dim.

I get ready with excitement, I start to rush.

I do not wish to be late,

For mayhap today, he'll ask me on a date!