Eyes abalone blue, face innocently open, like his adolescent’s heart, before the damage was done. A smile wide enough to draw you in, pulling at laughter lines and tipping beautiful-bowed lips into a donkey’s bray, surprised and amused by its own eee-awww.
As a weather-pattern he’d be conflicted skies and doom-filled flurries. Optimistic forecasts promising sun, but all too often side-ways rain and ruined picnics the reality. He could be the worst April showers in living history. And never a rainbow, other than a pound shop plastic peace-offering.
He’d definitely leave his mark. Footprints like mammoth slabs of monkfish, drawn long and Munchian. The pallor of beasts living deep deep below, far away from light and air. On the water’s surface, a battered boat, barely seaworthy, threatening to sink at any moment, taking every last passenger down.
And his promises — toilet-paper thin and as absorbent, dissipating with temptations.
Words of commitment sea drops evaporating from a hot beach body — cooling and calming in the moment, but gone in seconds leaving flesh exposed to midday rays.
If he was someone else’s, introduced over drinks, I’d sense the shifty and warn them off. But right here, right now I forget the danger in a jot. Choose to forget. See gold, a crazy grin. Feel the release of water popping from my skin. Accept the rainbow.
Sam is based in Clevedon where she’s part of a supportive writing group, venturing into open-mic-ing in Bristol, and has only been published once (by us) as part of FlashFlood 2024. She’s always loved words, read ferociously since little, studied English Literature & Language at uni, with copywriting part of her Comms day job. But it was lockdown which finally inspired her to try her hand at creative writing in the form of micro observations, distilling down memories, and capturing loved (+ not-so-loved) ones mainly in the form of poetry, finding joy in the many weird and wonderful aspects of life.
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