Enchanted Words

Enchanted Words

A man’s words are manifestly more seductive than the awkward actions taken in the game of seduction. Flowers and chocolates are not as persuasive, and gifts are only a measure of what can be afforded rather than what can be surrendered. I’d rather have your heart than your money and your tongue than your gifts.

Perhaps it’s because I am a wordsmith and as such I know the power of words and the weight they hold on the soul like an anchor that holds down a vessel even as the ocean continues to swirl around us. Like metal that is melted in fire to mold, words set aflame something inside me that is capable of forging me into anything it wants with your stolen kisses and timid touches, and the words you immortalize in your writing.

But words can also take from me what I don’t want to give, bending me to its spellbinding will even as I fight to keep control of my own words, to make them vague enough for you to keep guessing but powerful enough to enchant you like the minx sorceress I’ve become. But your words are slippery and unpredictable where mine are made of stone, casting me into the dangerous waters of your puerility and watching me sink to the bottom where your words anchor me down to your soul and my words sink their fangs into your soft neck.

** Photo by Reiz (http://reizdrawing.deviantart.com/art/Enchantress-626821931)


Love is an Echo

Love is an Echo

In order for an echo to be heard, a sound needs to be made.  The sound of love is oftentimes the most prevalent sound that lasts long into the echo.  But love is not always the sweet sound of wind chimes singing in the breeze or waterfalls cascading in the distance.  Sometimes love is the sound of sobbing in the dark or the heart-wrenching silence of wanting someone you can’t have and watching her from a distance.  Those sounds last well into the years until the echo is all that is remembered and the original sound has long since faded.

Some try to petrify the echo in time with deposits of tears and hopeful yearning, reaching back into the past to capture something that had never been there.  But ultimately, an echo is just an illusory craving for something heard only by the bearer of the echo as it perennially resonates in his head until he believes that somehow she too can hear his heart beat against his chest with the sounds of a love she never knew existed.

And when the echo evanesces, the clamorous ringing of loss becomes its replacement so that instead of feeling the sting of unrequited love anymore, he hurts for a love he could no longer remember having forgotten.


Unrequited Love” by Pichu

** Featured image by Zeiva (http://zeiva.deviantart.com/art/Echo-33587678)