This is my final contribution to my week of #SummerLovin… this may be the best thing I’ve ever written. Would love to hear your thoughts 🙂
The Book of Love is a weighty tome, bound in exquisite green leather. Within its well-worn pages are all the stories you’ll ever need to hear, although they can be difficult to follow. Narrative is rarely linear. Happy endings are rare. Expected endings rarer still.
By a quirk of fate, in an opportune fold of the book by the celestial reader’s hand, two of the pages met one day.
Page 37 was a chapter midpoint, full of florid, overblown descriptions of clouds and silver linings, and ended on an unfortunate joke about bottoms. The page was marked by a smudgy, greasy thumbprint.
Page 294 was very different. Enigmatic and alluring, fiery and passionate, but with an undercurrent of disappointment, the last sentence of the page being cut off midway through. 294 had the air of someone who was certain their car keys were down the back of the sofa, but cannot find them, no matter how many times they’d look. Not a single bottom joke graced that page. Slightly strangely, the reader had circled one word in the centre of the page, seemingly at random. “Birthday”
And although one was even, and one decidedly odd, a great friendship grew, there in the margins, where the binding just – just – connected them.
37 would opine for days in his pompous prose, and 294 received it in good humour, responding in kind. They were never quite on the same page, naturally enough, but they were somewhere close to it. Each challenged the other, in spite of their own shortcomings, and something deeper than friendship emerged.
Each longed for the other, and would dream of ways to make it so.
To be a pair of facing pages.
They fantasised about watching the sun set together, without one being in the closed darkness of the book. They imagined starting their own book, free of the set narrative. They wished a fairytale of their own.
But the binding of the book was fixed, and it was never to be, and they continued their love there in the margins, where the binding just – just – connected them.
And if you look back now, within the well-worn pages of The Book of Love, and take a glance at Page 37, and at Page 294, and at all the pages in between, you will find that the words written on those pages haven’t changed at all. But their meaning has changed completely.
Rick fired his final bullets into the horde, but slipped awkwardly on a pool of guts, warm in the midday sun. No escape this time. The zombies overpowered him, tearing flesh from his bones, utterly devouring him.
Two zombies grabbed at his still-twitching arm from opposite sides, driven by The Hunger. In the moment before they sank their yellow, flesh-stained teeth into a succulent human meal, their aqueous eyes met, sparked. All of the thrashing and wailing disappeared in that moment. This crazy world stood still. Inside, two necrotic hearts remembered a beat.
It was love at first bite.
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/mrseb/6320652409
“Sir, we’ve analysed the results of the Serendipity Stick.”
“Well, what have you found out about this couple?”
“Well, the stick says that their meeting and falling for each other was approximately 80% fate, 10% chance, 5% inevitability, 3% drunken luck, and 2% for…”
“2% for the moon, sir. Apparently it’s in waxing crescent phase. That always implies new growth.”
“That’s right, sir. New growth. It’s all the rage.”
“Is that so? I have a somewhat simpler explanation. None of your scientific mumbo-jumbo.”
(snaps stick and hits the other man with it)
“It’s love, dumbass.”
May each of you be hit with the serendipity stick 🙂
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/dragonoak/5892635331
I’m jealous of the shadow
You cast upon the ground
Jealous of the honeybee
That follows you around
I’m jealous of the choral birds
That wake you from your sleep
Jealous of the Sun’s warm rays
That kiss you on the cheek
I’m jealous of the gentle breeze
Flowing through your hair
Jealous of the passers-by
Who turn their heads and stare
I’m jealous of your clothes
They mock me with their touch
Jealous of the scent you wear,
A hint but not too much
I’m jealous of the oxygen
That cause your breast to rise
Jealous of the world
That gets to see your eyes
I’m jealous of the lipstick
Applied to darken hue.
I’m a jealous, jealous man
Because I’m not there with you
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/samratzaman/14449818766
Written for my week of Summer Lovin’
An iceberg at the
Then she smiles
And I melt
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/leighdblu/13263720155
Written for my week of Summer Lovin’ 🙂
Stumbling and giggling.
Hope I never sober up:
I’m drunk on your love
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/semansco/24851288
I’ve gone crazy for a lady
I’m loved up and I’m shady
I’m absolutely gaga for this girl
I’ve gone loopy for a lass
My mind’s in a morass
I’m absolutely wappy for this woman
I don’t know what to do
I think she feels it too
I’m absolutely potty for this peach
I’m a palpitating mess
Because this one is the best
I’m totally bananas about this belle
She’s always on my mind
But I’m feeling in a bind
Because I’m absolutely nutty… about you
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/withassociates/4505385560
Written for my week of Summer Lovin’🙂
Rashmi’s weekly limerick challenge is to use “antonyms” … here’s my contribution, sticking to my week’s Summer Lovin’ theme 🙂
My default is acting the fool,
Laughing and covered in drool
But I want to impress
This girl who’s the best
So now I’m playing it cool!
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/cats2007/2038387606
While you were sleeping,
a million hearts’ first beatings…
A million souls depart,
their tales now all told…
A million songbirds sang
in a Mexican choral wave,
spreading wings around the world…
A million lessons learned,
a million fingers burned…
A million hands found the glove that fits their soul…
A million stars twinkled, distant and bright…
A million children curled up, safe in the night…
And one lonely shepherd, shaken to his core,
Knowing he loved you, a little bit more.
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/seniju/13355401113