Hello, Again

In the past year-plus of neglecting this blog, I have begun to study and practice what I really love- Creative writing.

Care for an excerpt from my first story-telling class? O-kay!
___________________________________

Tabitha and I understood without saying that most conversation is nervous chatter weaker people use to compensate for a fear of intimacy. Still, we had waited. After the requisite pleasantries had been exchanged we passed a polite introductory period spanning precisely sixteen days. Without further delay, we slipped deep into each other’s brains. We carved away at language until it was bare skin, and even less than that but became the connective tissue of our spirits. Segues disappeared. While the world waded on beaches, conscious of their own propriety, careful to never slip in above waist-deep, we dove from cliffs into the same ocean. By February, we approached a cliff I’d never braved.
“I fear it, Tabitha.”
“You and I fear solitude more,” she answered.
“Solitude? I don’t feel solitary.”
She waited. I gave my ready defense.
“Anyway, sex is too strange.”
“What?”
“I could never share my insides, never attempt it. My womb is the temple where I dream. I could dream in secrecy forever.”
“You want to protect yourself from pain. That’s different.”
A chasm opened between us. I balked.
“Well, I haven’t thought of a way to share it without awful, heavy noises. I don’t understand the sounds. Where do they come from?”
“I don’t know, Win, but you can’t keep you for yourself. And ‘it’ doesn’t live in your lungs or between your legs.” She set her jaw and retreated inside herself. A second later, she exhaled.
“Without light and air, whatever you’re trying to protect will only die."
I mutely considered her. She challenged me in equal silence. I felt in that moment that I would remain unknown and had in fact been alone for all time. Tabitha and I had bathed in one another’s emotions, and we had spoken with nuanced subtle gazes, but even she could not prove me scientifically. I thought alone; I was enclosed. I maintained my vow to abstain from the heavy noises and empty chatter, but more than ever I groaned from my inner recesses. I was left drifting in an ocean beyond my comprehension. In folly and faith, I had run to her on deep waters whose surfaces drew me out far. Now I couldn’t see the shore for sinking.
___________________________________

There you have it. A small bit of one story I have loved well.
I'm not done loving it yet, either.

B.