The intoxicating dragon's kiss that I used to chase, I now seek out a means to permanently replace my insatiable urge to kiss it's face. For two decades the dragon's been in and out of my life like a dysfunctional relationship where it's my husband and I'm the unfaithful wife. I would leave over and over again, but it took me back every time. But it would lift me up so high, then just leave me to die. My continued present existence is only accredited to the Most High. I've grown so weary of all the pain, turmoil, and strife. So with God's help I sever our ties with a knife. No longer will I feel it's high. No longer will it make me cry. No longer will I risk myself to die. No longer believing both of our lies. I am so glad to finally be saying this overdue goodbye.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson2 days ago in Fiction
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