Between My Bleeding Lines’ Readers: Mah Lima

Note to Self

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There’s no point in looking outside for things you should have inside. It will only bring you harm. Don’t put your happiness in a stranger’s hand. No matter how long you’ve been with someone, unless you’re both open to it, you never really know them. And even when they are, you still don’t. So how can you let them guide you and follow blindly? Communication is key. Respect is foundation. Commitment is basic. Love? Love is like the cherry on the top. Or you really thought all of the couples you know that have been together for so long were so because of “love”? No, my dear. They’re together because they want to, because there’s those three things and a thousand more reasons to stay. Nowadays it’s harder and harder to find people willing to stay. So when you do, when you finally feel good with yourself and find that one person that stays throughout all seasons, you stay. It’s probably new to you and everything inside you tells you to leave, but don’t run away. Stay true to yourself, open and honest. Talk to them and listen. Respect them and commit. And when asked, tell people you’ve found love because, in the end, isn’t that what love is?

© Máh Lima


The last but definitely not the least of my girls is Mah from Brazil who writes with heart tugging simplicity, and awe-mazing honesty. If you need the *feeeeeels* go check out her lovely and colorful and amaaazing gallery! ❤

My hun Mah did not suggest edits, she said she just cried and pondered and cried all throughout the book. And for me, that is more than enough. (i am such a bad best friend haha).

Thank youuuu, hun! Happy to have you with me in each and every milestone! Loooove you big time!

(As the release of my BETWEEN MY BLEEDING LINES nears (this month!), I would like to feature the amazing writers who guided me (technically and morally) all through out this nine-month journey. I am blessed to have them.)

Sorry, Storm

My clear window pane is tainted with gem-like trickles of rain. The sky is angry. So black. So dark. Its sharp and fast lightning brings along growling screams of thunder.These are the moments I hate the most.

With rain comes my demon named depression. The feeling that even the mighty one loathes my existence and He is expressing his hate upon me via a brutal weather.

But today, as I watch the glaring storm with your arms wrapped around me, I feel as warm as summer, as blossoming as happy spring.

Sorry, storm, your desperate efforts of gloom will forever be futile, as long as he loves me.

11.05.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to Monday Morning Melts #4: As Long As You Love Me – Backstreet Boys. This is a prompt I am co-hosting with my dear friend Jade!❤

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Before You

One is a whole number. I can exist on my own. I can cook for myself. I can breathe for myself. I can speak for myself. I can take care of myself.

It’s not as if I was born with someone to do those things for me. I was born alone. I have no problem dying alone. I have long chosen a world with no one but me.

Well, that was before you, honey.

11.05.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to Monday Morning Melts #3: In Your Hands- Jason Mraz. This is a prompt I am co-hosting with my dear friend Jade!❤

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Forever and Infinities

I don’t care about forever and infinities. They sound poetic and cheesy, yes. But they are abstracts lacking assuring finite.

You don’t have to promise me tomorrow. Or a grandiose wedding. Beautiful children. A steady home locked around white picket fence. Those are just social clichés.

No need to promise me the moon, the stars, and even the sun. Let them stay on their thrones. Let them shine on their own.

I just want now and you. I just need now and you.

Forget about tomorrow or the ever hopeful forever. Ditch them. Erase them. Scrap them. Just love me now.

11.05.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

 

In response to Monday Morning Melts #2: Love Me Now by John Legend. A prompt I am co-hosting with my dear friend Jade!❤

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Seasons: Finale

First two parts were published last Tuesday and yesterday.

“This can’t be,” my mind whispered. But my heart and my senses knew, this is him.

When I finally looked into his dark brown eyes, words ran out of me. Anger and sadness left me. I am numb.

He stared back and looked through my eyes as his hand trace my arms and reach for my hand.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, softly. I am too weak to resist so I let him lead me.

Memories came rushing as we walk hand in hand towards the ancient wooden bench that we call, ours. This place is far too familiar to forget. It smells sweet during summer, fresh during spring, chilly during winter. Now, the atmosphere is filled with earth scents.

We sit silently, unmoving.

I stare away from his face but my body is wide awake as his finger trace the ghost of our engagement ring.

More shivers run through me as I felt his face moves closer to my ears.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered repeatedly. His hoarse voice cracked as he softly say how much he missed me.

I slowly pushed him away. I faced him, eye to eye, with all my being. I am not sure if I am a soul now or what, but I bared my whole self to him as I look straight to his teary-eyes.

“Breathe. Please, breathe,” I reminded myself as the flood of emotions flowed through me. Anger. Sadness. Longing. Unbelief. Love. Yes, love is still there.

I am now looking again at the man I loved and still love so much. I am now looking at the man I imagined waiting for me at the altar. I am now looking at the man I dreamed of having children with. I am now looking at the man I have mourned for five years.

I am now looking at the man I badly wanted to be alive, again.

“Come with me,” he said as he wiped my tears.

“How?” I asked in between my quiet sobs.

He moves closer to me. “Just say yes.”

I looked at his eyes and let the windows of my soul express the words my tongue cannot utter.

Our stares are charged with strong love, anguish, sadness, confusion. Our eyes are like weapons that unveil the emotional turmoil happening inside us.

Just as the longing became unbearable, his soft lips finally met mine.

We are both cold but our locked-lips sent warm current through our whole being. His lips felt familiar and intoxicating. His lips reminded me of what I have been missing. His lips, oh, his lips.

My eyes remained close. I want to feel him and him only, until a strong electric jolt shocked me.

I resisted the strong energy trying to suck me away from him.

I tried… I tried…. I tried….

But I cannot resist the black-hole-like force that swallowed me.

My heart beats fast.

My body shakes.

My breath rushes back.

“Her heartbeat returned. She’s back, she’s back,” someone whispered softly but with urgency.

My eyes struggle to open up against the blinding lights of the operating room.

I am alive, again.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series.

Seasons: Part 2

First part was published yesterday.

Chilling shivers crawled in my veins when I saw my bloody-self inside my wrecked car.

“So what am I now? Am I a soul now? Am I dead? Am I alive?” I shouted but no voice left me.

The ambulance arrived. Several medical staffs tried to retrieve my blood-soaked body. The unfolding scene is nauseating but I urged myself to think straight.

I collected myself and prepared to run to get inside the ambulance.

But I stopped as I felt a warm yet slightly cold hand touch my arms.

I am unsure if my heart is still alive but it surely beat fast once my skin recognized this hand.

This hand belongs to the man I was supposed to marry five years ago.

This hand belongs to the man I cried and yelled at when he was not able to see me on that fateful day of October.

I waited on our corner but he did not come because he died.

But this hand… is definitely….

“No, no, no, no.” “This is couldn’t be. This couldn’t be.”

But my senses say otherwise.

This is how his touch feels like.

And this is how he makes me feel.

I slowly turned around.

And urged myself to look up.

My heart stopped.

Because the hand resting is my arm is indeed… his.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series. ❤

Effulgent

The pregnant tree has never dared to let a sunray pass through its leaf-filled twigs, until the witty wind let out a happy sigh that made the stubborn tree dance for a while.

As the branches swayed with the wind, the rays has finally reached the tree’s inner soul. It was then it realized how it needed some sun to fill its gloomy, hidden holes.

Now let me tell you, I am the tree and you are my sun. And I am glad that I let you in.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, wocado.com

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

 

Redamancy

When your own mother did not desire to love you as her own daughter, it becomes harder to believe that someone can love you forever.

Hence when men left me, my heart’s too numb to be bruised. Pain is really something my mind refused. Ever since I was that baby left outside an orphanage door, I have never expected for anything more.

After decades of embracing my single blessedness, I stumbled upon Him who some say can accept and love all my past mess.

It was then I was able to prove that there is indeed someone who can give the love you think you don’t deserve. He is just waiting for you to surrender all your anger-reserves.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

Nelipot

The burning ball seating proudly at the highest height, burns the stoned alley towards a home without a light.

There a nameless man lives with no living thing but himself. Surrounded by less non-breathing things, to him was left.

Once he was known as a dashing bachelor, until a deceitful woman snatched his valor.

Now he lives with almost nothing not even a shoe, well he don’t need one as he lives locked in his light-less house’s own flu.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

Ghost

It has always been my dream to become a writer, a journalist might be the proper term. To see my name in the prestigious by-line of the story that I wrote, would feel like I won a much-coveted Olympic gold.

I never knew until college, that Nanay (mother) shares the same dream. I should’ve figured through the old baby photos inked with her scribbled narratives of my tiniest beams or angriest screams.

And so I tried my luck, with my degree as my backpack, I tiptoed towards an unknown track. Then I found a good samaritan who lead me, guide me through the mountain. Together we climb journalism’s terrain. I can already see the peak, I can almost touch it. That’s when the corporate monster appeared to suck all my wit.

I fall briskly, painfully. But my dream’s too stubborn to abandon me entirely. So now I am working behind. Cloaked and hidden somewhere no one can find.

My mind thinks.
My fingers type.
My eyes read.
My mind edits.

The article’s done, but I don’t recognize the name on the by-line.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerse‘s Let’s Kick it Up A Notch by Victoria C. Slotto.

dverse

Search your archives and choose a poem, even if it’s one you thought was already done, and see if you can add a little spice to it through the use of sensory description, replacing metaphor, or tightening up your word count. (If you write prose, maybe you could choose a paragraph and make it into a poem, still applying the prompt.)

Read Victoria’s own poem titled Death Imagined.:)

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NOTE: Here is the original poem where this prose came from. 

Ghost 
(October 21, 2014)

It has always been a dream to be a writer.

A writer who can be able to see her name in the prestigious ‘by-line’.

But now, I have settled to write ‘behind’.

My mind works.

My mind thinks.

My fingers type.

I finish the article.

But the By Line’ isn’t mine.