Tristan And Isolde

Tristan and Isolde have not seen each other in over three years.

The war separated them, forcing them to face its horror alone.

It was scary, like falling over a cliff with no parachute. They had been friends since childhood when they sat beside each other in Miss Blanche’s poorly lit room, their teacher. They shared many of life’s adversities and joys, including the death of Tristan’s father and the birth of Isolde’s sister’s little boy.

Are their sparks of finally being in each other’s company, holding each other’s hands, and leaning onto one another once again, blinding your sight? Heart bursting.

Two solid walls of comfort.

The water is cold but they don’t even feel the wetness of it, let alone its temperature. Splashing their feet in it reminds them of their long-gone days swimming in the river by their nearby homes. The five men standing above them, blowing their cigarette smoke and witnessing their laughter, are jealous of such intimacy. They are smiling, but their forehead is telling their truth while frowning as if holding their envy.

What does it take to hold someone so close with no plan, not knowing what the future will bring, simply being in what comes your way?

Do you ever know how the day ahead will unfold, though? Can you be fully present to what today may bring, open to grace, a flower growing its petals, and rejoice for being here, a kid dancing in the rain, no parent in sight, one more day on planet earth?

The answer you already know. 

First day of writing workshop ✅ 

Disclaimer,

This was my first time describing a picture I was given while timed. And not gonna lie; I don’t do well when pressured. My Pitta nature rebels, kicks, and shouts. And at 5:30 am 🤦🏻‍♀️ I did it, though, and that’s what counts. Thanks for being here. With me.