My Love

 I’m running around like a mad woman, and I have not been writing at all this week. Apparently I’m just gonna grab another FWF prompt from Kellie Elmore on my way in between the shower and the local dive. I did not do this piece justice at all, and I apologize for that.

Write about something you love. Sounds easy, right? Oh but wait, here is the catch… You must write about something you love and it must be something you can hold in both hands BUT WAIT, there’s more… You cannot tell what it is. Yes, you read that right… I want you to pretend I already know and describe why you love it so much. Convince me to love it too. Go deeper than what it looks like, tell me how it makes you feel when you use/hold/see/ it.  Be as abstract as you wish, just be sure to leave us guessing! I anticipate some great discussion/comments for these entries!

I really love it, ya know? Not that selfish all-for-me-and-none-for-you kind of love, but rather a selfless one- if that makes any sence.

It’s battered and beaten, scared and scuffed, but the accumulation of memories in those little imperfections are beautiful to me.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, it’s a silly thing to be in love with, right? I should make myself bigger, reach out to other dreams and make them a reality, but I would rather hang my hat on this humble little hook.

It took me a long time, you know, to realize what I had there in my two calloused palms. I threw it away, ignored it, insulted, spit on and abused it, but it just kept coming back. I would find it where I least expected to, and I would put it back up on a shelf where it would brush up against the spines of my notebooks. It seemed always to watch me from the corners of the room, so occasionally I would take it back down, wipe it down, and trace with my fingertips the memories etched on it’s cool surface. It was always a bit frightening to look upon, but it also represented the struggle and pain I once struggled through, so I found a strength in keeping it near… Such a small thing, to hold so much of my big heart.

I wrote prose to it you know, isn’t that silly? I thought so. Unfortunately I was incapable of encompassing the full glory of emotion contained in my vision of it. How sad. It would have made a great story…

Sometimes I think it whispers to me. Is that crazy? When the night is dark and there are no sounds but my own, occasionally I hear a subtle rustling in the darkness and I listen with my heart open wide.

It’s not much, but it’s all I have in the way of love. I suppose you could call me a sentimental fool for dragging it around with me everywhere I go, but I have found it useful. It’s a tool ya know, and every tool is a weapon if you hold it right, Ani taught me that. I live a pretty rough lifestyle, so any thing or anyone who wishes to share my company has got be capable of weathering the storms.

This one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt to be unbreakable- trust me, I’ve tried- So I consider it a safe place to bury my heart… Nobody can take from me what they do not know to look for.


7 thoughts on “My Love

  1. holy moly! you have left my head spinning trying to figure this out. am I crazy? is it spelled out for me and I am just not getting it? My first guess was a photo of someone but then you said “tool”… ok, kelley… you have to tell me!!!! lol! I am sharing this on Facebook, but do not give it away until maybe someone else takes a stab at it… 😉

    xoxo Thank you for writing for me!!!!!!!!!!!! ♥



  2. Well done, Kelley. I was originally guessing it was a writing instrument of some kind…but phrases like “memories etched on its cool surface” now have me thinking perhaps it’s a recovery chip, like those given in Celebrate Recovery or AA, for an amount of time free from the chains of a behavior, habit, or addiction?


  3. Clint tuengel

    Hay Kelley ,,I seen you day after day and week after week at the Index cafe writing in that journal of yours.Is it that journal or journal’s of yours…


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