Jump to content
The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Recommended Posts

Posted

I watch. Watch her composed stance as she sits on the bed. I feel the stirrings. And I know, it is only a matter of time before I break. Break before this dear old lady who is more harmless than a doe.

 

She reaches out. She holds my left hand with her own. I dart a glimpse at her bowed head, then meet her eyes as she looks up. Is it my imagination, or are they glistening? That gaze. Piercing as a pin, yet serene as a stream. How does she manage it? Does she wield such skill or does my imagination run wild?

 

I breathe, slowly. Wretchedly aware of my sins. No words are necessary.

 

I know.

 

She strokes my hand. In that dreadfully calm and unreproachful way. I blink, several times. I cannot cry, not when it is New Year's Day. What have I done? How could I have been so cruel? To one who doted on me? To one who valued me while others criticised? What kind of ingrate am I?

 

She watches me, as I struggle to hold my countenance. The million excuses in my heart crumble before her half-blind eyes. She is possibly a reflection of what lays ahead of me. I accept my lot.

 

What goes round, comes round.

 

Dear granny, forgive me.

 

I will be back.

 

I promise.

Posted

I’ve been watching for

you to start writing again

and I know that

what I’ve just read

was well worth the wait.

 

Glad you’re back.

 

Mistral this is a piece or writing that is as touching as it is well put together. Nicely done.

×
×
  • Create New...