#Nightgale Flash Fiction 4 of 4


“But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retarts: Already with thee! Tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,”
– Keats (Ode To A Nightingale)

Writing is Immortality

The cursor on the screen still blinked, the story now finally inked. Centuries later, she’d put pen down to paper, her guilt now finally in print.

The agent on the phone, to the writer unknown, outlined a few edits to the tale, but all were spoken to no avail. The writer was adamant that not a detail lay dormant of the truth she had harboured too long.

If only she hadn’t done that which was wrong.
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A Deafening Quiet

It’s nearly Christmas and I don’t feel Christmassy at all. Maybe that’s partly the bleak outlook everyone has right now or maybe it’s the fact that I still can’t have a night out that doesn’t involve breaking down and crying on somebody at some point.

There’s also the other thing that I’m getting quite sick of. Maybe most girls would enjoy it, but I don’t. I never have and round about now it’s just making the things going around my head worse.

Maybe you even already guessed that with my lack of being able to deal with something as innocent as a kiss. I don’t know.

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Sometimes I can only bring you poetry where thoughts would otherwise lie like memories inked upon the page. Sometimes this poetry tells you all that you need to know and sometimes it unrolls like smoke as you read and reread.

I can’t tell you what kind of poetry this piece will be. I only know that I have written it and that it is unedited, uncut, unmuddied by further thought. It is as it was written. It is as it was first thought.

Writing it helps. Releasing it sets it free.

Continue reading “Incandescent”

Long Kiss Goodbye

I went out a few days ago. It started off as a good night. My friend got me drunk, trying to take my mind off things. I guess it didn’t work so well because I ended up balling my eyes out in public. I hate public shows like that.

I’m not even sure exactly how it started or where it came from. I haven’t been able to cry properly since it happened. I just don’t know how or what to do or how to feel or… anything.

I don’t understand.

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