The Edge of Loneliness

We sleep on the edges of a giant bed
I’ve memorized the landscape
each freckle on your back
every blemish on the ceiling

We sit at a table
in close proximity
but worlds apart
minds adrift

The vast space between us
feels insurmountable
I try to cross the chasm
there is no bridge

I love you some days
but the space between those days
is growing wider
it is me who is drifting away

Reel me back in
it is not so difficult
but kindness does not come easy
and coldness breaks my heart

I am looking over the edge
considering the unknown
over the deep freeze
on your side of the bed

 

By Donna Beck – 2014

 

My Hope For You

All I want for you, is everything.

I want you to shed the expectations of everyone who has a role for you, and be who you are. I hope you have a few close friends who can appreciate the beauty of evolution, but if you don’t, I hope you are in awe of your own progression.

I want you to experience passionate kisses, gentle caresses, and desire that blurs your vision. I want you to be startled by your own euphoria, then lulled by contentedness.

I want you to feel heartache at a depth that can only be felt by one who loves completely, and experiences the pain of disappointment.

I hope you feel warm sun on your skin, a breeze under your skirt, and a ladybug crawling on your arm. I hope mud squishes between your toes, and that you appreciate the simplicity of clean running water.

I hope you are humbled by the intricate beauty found in the center of a flower, and are awed by the night sky. I hope you never lose your desire to learn. I hope you keep an open mind and allow your ideas to change.

I really hope you experience the gaze of a nursing baby that needs you the way no one else ever will. I hope you get to experience the fiercely protective love that makes you feel like a wild animal, and the relief that comes when a fever breaks.

I want you to feel sore muscles, the kind that come from pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, and experiencing a new level of strength. I want you to rest and feel your limitations too.

I want you to live your life and let other people live their own. I want you to experience the gift of truly helping someone, and the frustration of knowing you can’t.

I want you to surprise yourself with kindness, bravery, and honesty. With yourself. I hope you love yourself, shamelessly. I hope you have a relationship with yourself that can be the model of how you treat others.

All I want for you is everything. Everything life has to give, and nothing less.

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Hope, With or Without Feathers

Emily Dickinson wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers”, and that she could hear it’s song through a gale-force wind. Emily had really good hearing, or maybe she was just an optimist.

Hope is a tool for the optimist, only they can use it. Pessimist wouldn’t even think to pick it up, and wouldn’t know how to use it if they did. Hope is a big tool, a useful tool, the ‘motor drill’ of the tool belt. It is not just a feeling, but a way of thinking that can alter behavior and decision making.

It is also the word most frequently used by readers who send me emails after reading any of my three ‘Manhattan Girl’ stories. When I started writing erotica, I never expected “your stories give me hope” to be a common comment in my feedback. Then again, I write pretty weird erotica. My characters have sexual relationships, but they always have adversity to deal with and overcome. I write what I know. Actually, the hot sex is a product of my sexy imagination, overcoming adversity is what I really know something about.

I recently received one of the “your stories give me hope” emails, and I would like to apologize for my response. The reader wrote that he is going through a divorce and that my stories gave him hope for the future, made him see the way things could be. I wrote back chastising the man, reminding him that I write romance, it is all fantasy, and that life isn’t really like that. I was having a bad day.

I want to believe that life can be like my stories. I don’t see why it can’t. I’m not talking about the sexual prowess of my characters, I’m talking about the way they treat each other. Is it possible?

I am an optimist who believes in love. Why shouldn’t I? I love myself, and I have a lot of love to give. I also am older, wiser, and not handicapped by a biological clock that is pounding in my ears and influencing my judgement. I am mature enough to realize that the outer shell is just that. I know the characteristics I am compatible with. I am rich with experience, not in need, but aware of what works. I’m am really on a hilltop, not in a hole, and my future looks really good from this perspective.

I have many useful tools in my belt, and my hope is charged. Sort of. I’m an optimist, so if it runs low, I’ll plug it in and recharge it. I’m going to be better than okay.

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