Our first contest entry, by Martin A. David

The Black Hole into which Love can be lost, as it swirls with passion and friction

Two words: Love and Loss. Both are so potent with meaning if they stand alone. Link those two words together and, like two lovers, they become much more than the sum of their parts. Our contest begins!

Literati!

Our first entry into our contest Lost Love has completely captured the essence of our intent with this entry. Eloquent, straight-forward, poetic and poignant.  But do remember, we ask you to recall a recent encounter, real or imagined, with your first love.  What if that first love was a Ford Mustang you discovered rusting in field?  Or a rescue pooch that was lost when you moved from Detroit to San Diego?  Or a re-run of Casa Blanca that you had not watched in 30 years?  Or maybe even your own narcissistic portrait of Dorian Gray?  Have at it.

I truly enjoyed reading and posting Martin’s entry. I raise a glass of locally fermented blueberry wine in his honor!  Your thoughts?  Do leave a comment.

A Lost Love

By Martin A. David

A phantom itch in a heart space no longer there. A random sensation. A sneeze that could not be stifled in a silent place. She was all those things. She was none of those things. He had forgotten her. He could never forget her.

She never existed. She was a flesh-searing brand that had never healed. It was all a joke. She had never existed. However, she was there. He saw her. He tried to look away, but he saw her. She didn’t see him. He was glad. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to see.

It was her. He was sure it was her. Looking at her filled him with fear. Looking at her filled him with sadness. Looking at her filled him with loathing. She was a lost spirit and she looked like a creature that had risen from a grave. He tried to look away, but he stared at her. Looking at her filled him with memories.

She had been beautiful. Her long hair had flowed softly like a silken river. Her skin…oh, her skin…touching her had been like a sweet drug to him. Their bodies entwined brought peace to everything around them. Now the thought of stroking her filled him with revulsion. Now the skin he could see, the face, the trembling hands, looked gray and bloated. The eyes that once could read both the future and the past were now blank.

They had been so happy. They told each other they were so happy.

“I am happy,” she said to him again and again.

“Yes, I am happy,” he repeated so many times to her.

Perhaps they had been so happy. Who was to judge? Who can measure; who can define what that simple word means?

He had loved her. He knew he had loved her. There were no doubts in his mind that he loved her at that time. He needed no one to judge or define that complicated word. He had loved her as he loved no person before or after her. He stared at the vacant being that once had been her and tried to imagine that love.

He, for a brief moment, wanted to call out to her. He wanted to whisper, to intone, to utter, to sing, to say her name. It is not proper to summon a ghost. So he held his silence—or rather his silence held him. Her name, almost spoken and never forgotten, now echoed dully in his head. The vision of her, so close to him and yet so many planets away, danced tauntingly with the memory of her from that other time. If he closed his eyes, if he looked away, which apparition would triumph?

She moved. She stepped, haltingly, into the passing crowd. He stared at the space where she had been. She was gone. She was lost again….or was he?

 

 

 

 

 

14 comments

  1. Stef
    Stef says:

    The division of reality. She was there and she wasn’t. Isn’t that how it feels when we lose the ones we love? They no longer appear before you physically, but they are always there in your heart. Would he have believed she was there if they were close enough to touch? Who is really lost? We don’t know. Neither does the narrator. But, love does not beg for an answer to that question. It only begs an answer to its plea that we finally regard its existence. Wonderful start to the contest!

  2. Dolores R says:

    Awesome! This beautiful master piece could possibly steer in many directions. Such as she could be what he wants or what he wants to see in a woman or a woman he once knew. This poem could possibly be a product of a psychological realm.

  3. Martin says:

    Thank you Stef. Ironically, just hours after I wrote this piece I was notified of the passing of a very close family member. The feeling you describe of reality’s duality is with me in both the Lost Love piece and the loss of dear Uncle Moishe.

  4. Diane Cresswell says:

    Great!!! You covered all the realms of reality when one sees again what is thought to be lost love and the questions or feelings are still not answered.

  5. Miryam says:

    Beauty that turns to ashes. Sometimes it’s best to stick to our memories …
    Enjoyed your entry Mr. David. Thank you for sharing your talent.

  6. Laura G says:

    You’ve deftly mastered opposites…Loving, wanting to move on; attraction/revulsion. The forgetting, the blaming is a common and useful defense mechanism. But as the story evolves, the remembrance becomes more poignant. The narrator accepts that he loved her. By the end, he wonders if he is the one who is lost, now that he has remembered and accepted that love. So much going on, so much emotional intelligence and universal human nature in less than a page. Well done!

  7. Martin says:

    Thank you Laura. Sometimes we write so that we can find out what we are thinking. After I wrote this piece, so many of the themes, etc. that you mention began to percolate through my consciousness.

  8. Tiffany says:

    I was pulled in and swept into the want of this woman. It wasn’t the having or the losing, but the “wanting” that made this story dance on the edge of sanity. Futuristic, and almost kinda timeless. A nice piece.

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