A Reluctant Writing Prompt

I write because it is one of the few places that I can be totally honest. I can roll thoughts around in my mind, on my tongue in a writers whisper and let my pencil, pen or keyboard be my mediator, my eager servant.
~Leora

I enjoy a women’s writing class every Wednesday morning in Santa Cruz. We’ve been on hiatus over the summer and I was really looking forward to returning to the class.

But life, like it tends to do, threw me an unexpected curve ball. A new job and all that implies.

As the days approached to the first day of the fall season of the women’s writing circle, I felt compelled to cancel and end my commitment until I was on sturdier ground with work and a relatively consistent schedule.

I was sure I was going to cancel until this morning. The morning of the season’s first class, I dropped my daughter off at school. With an afternoon and evening work schedule I planned to go home and crash for an hour. But, instead when I got home I considered my class, dressed quickly, grabbed my note book, pencil and headed north on the one to Santa Cruz.

The moment I walked in and sat down in pre-class meditation. I forgot about work, about money, about bills, about all that weighed heavy on me. I popped each intruding thought with a mental pin and focused on breathing and letting the gratitude of writing take its course. This is what came out of my heart.

Writing Prompt: What I remember….

I remember how happy he was to see me. How his eyes twinkled. How blue they were.

I remember how patiently he waited behind my car, waiting for me to get out, waiting to see me for the first time in twenty two years. I remember his huge, genuine smile and saw his approval of how I’ve aged over the years.

I remember him hugging me, then picking me up and kissing me all over, forehead, chin, neck, nose, cheeks, eyelids, and finally my mouth. I remember the softness of his lips and the strangeness of a different tongue as it slowly, tentatively probed my mouth, searching, and inquisitive.

I remember opening my eyes slowly to see him as I parted my lips and let my first true love kiss me deeply once again. I remember the pounding of my heart in my chest, and how shallow my breathing became, I remember as he kissed me, looking just past his eyes and over his shoulders at the “almost” full moon, the clear night sky dotted with specks of distant stars. I remember thinking about my husband and how brokenhearted he would be. I remember not really caring, because at that very moment, if only for that moment, I knew this was where I was meant to be.