[Fiction] Furniture

Amid the sounds of grunts and groans, some progress is being made. I hope anyway. Ok. Lets see if I got this right. She wants the bookshelf here, the TV stand over there, and the two sofas side by side, erm, right....here.

Right. Here she comes.

[15 minutes later]

Yes, I was wrong.

I forgot the dining table. Ok let's go again. Dining table (and chairs) go here, bookshelf goes there, TV stand over there, and sofas go side by side....there. But I have a nagging feeling I've missed something...ahh well, here she comes.

[15 minutes later]

Ahhh. I knew I'd forgotten something. The wrong order. Ok, quickly now. This here, that there, these there, and that here. Done. Please be done. Here she comes.

"Finally. Is this how you wanted it?"
"I did"
"Did?"
"Yes. This is exactly how I thought I wanted it"
"And do you still want it like this now?"

A pause. She's not exactly thinking, as such, but just consulting a feminine sense that us males have no access to. I wait with bated breath. Eventually, a decision is reached.

"No. We will have to put everything back exactly how it was. Do you remember where everything used to be?"
"Yes" (Or I hope I do, anyway)
"Good. I'll leave you to it."

*stumblemumblegrumble*

"What was that?"
"Nothing, darling."

[Fiction] Remember Me

Remember me

Please.

I have not much time left, and as I look back on the events of my life, I see my interactions with all my fellow humans, but this time stripped of personal bias. I see them for what they are, and it feels too late to finally see them so. So many times I thought I was right, and I may well have been, but the way I acted was wrong.

I am sorry. So sorry. I have not enough time for penance by deed, so please accept my apology by word. I see times where I have hurt some without intending, and others where I kinda knew I would, but did not care. What annoys me most was that it was all so petty. I know not whether all those who I have interacted with will read this in time, but I put these words out there in hope that enough of those will do.

If I have hurt you, again, I ask for your forgiveness. Remember me, and send some prayers and blessings my way. Please. And if, perchance, you are one of the few who I have not hurt, or have never even met me, still, I ask you to remember me, and send prayers and blessings my way. You can never have too many of these, and my own supply is dangerously low.

It is the nature of things that I will be remembered less and less frequently as time goes by, and soon, I expect, I will be remembered by nobody. Such is life. And, of course, it is quite possibly wrong, that now, when very little remains in my hands, that I resort to asking everyone I know and everyone I don't for forgiveness and prayers.

But this is me. What else could you expect? Don't let it be you, though. Please don't.

Remember me. And forgive me. And pray for me.

Please.

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I'm not sure whether to call this fiction or not. On balance, I will, but how do we know we won't be saying these very words on our death beds?

The Love Poem

I walk home to the sweetest smile
Though I've only been away a while
But darent meet those mesmeric eyes
For I know I'll lose myself inside
I do my best to repay the smile in kind
As observations race through my mind
And I see all over all that you do
Though it's simply second nature to you
Daily stunned by your gentleness and care
Infusing all you do with a grace so rare
Eventually, when I collect my wits,
A few words come unbidden to my lips...
A line more heavy than all my tomes:
Only with you could I make my home

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For nobody in particular. I wrote this as a test - if I can feel so horribly low a few weeks ago, yet be able to write a soppy love poem now, then maybe there's hope for us all, na?

23

Twenty three years are marked today
The gift of time is slipping away
For all this, what have you to show?
A little here and there...not much though
Distracted am I from doing more
By life's constant ebb and flow
as in tending to small things
greater deeds are allowed to go....

------

There's a nagging voice, at the back of my head, that refuses to let go. And it makes me feel that, by now, I should have done more. I dunno. I kinda agree, even though I don't know why I do. I don't know what I want to do, and am happy where I am for now.

*sigh*

I went and looked back at my previous birthday entries, those for my 21st, and 22nd, and see the same or similar threads running through them all. Hmmm. One of these days I'm going to spend a whole day outside the house and spend it just thinking, and writing. Right now, all I have is a lot of questions.

Minimalism.

Strip away all you dont need
Leaving behind the essential core
Get rid of clutter and fluff
Set down the burden of "more"

Give yourself time and space
Away from having to store
Eliminating pointless distractions
Brings real life to the fore

From shallow to deep we go
Our true nature restored
Because from simplicity
True elegance unfolds.....

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Further reading

Considering that my poem is about minimalism, do I really need to write any more?