Rose Felder added 3 new photos. Slowly getting up from her seat, she smiles and watches someone working on the computer and updating its program. Some stating they have no idea she is writing a book, warnings go through the crowd, you better watch what you say? Pouring herself a cup of coffee, they already know who is writing this. And who is the she a woman who has lived a life that can’t be sacrificed, with the intense of peaceful perfection? The thing about all this is the way she sees it, she is unaware of the criminal laws that have been broken, she sees them replacing humanity where there is none. Some have lost families and children by simple mistakes, yet who said we are all perfect. The irony of everything she sees and knows, hearing the words. “She’s a moron what does she know there are killers here.” From what she sees is something that others don’t or even understand. They say your higher power or God is all good, so how about your human nature? Make an example of myself? She’s a shallow drug addict who use to be a mother and wife, how hysterical it is she thinks and writes. Is it? Comprehension? Probably not, the outcomes of everything doesn’t make anyone the right to judge those who know nothing about? Her question is are you a lawyer, a cop, or even a judge. Or perhaps the victim of a crime? Or perhaps the one that has sacrificed and tried to blend as a saint. Others don’t like her, perhaps it’s because she is a moron, or perhaps she choose not to see the ending of burning sunset. It really wouldn’t matter, people can’t read thoughts, and they only think they can. Words flash in the minds as beware, warning, your loved, acceptance, and other words that no one else sees other than her. Perhaps she’s mental, or perhaps she just doesn’t see, ignorance is bliss? Though as she thinks about what the law sees and other that know them, one word appears in her mind, forgiveness? Pouring a little sugar, with a lot of creamer she leans over her coffee taking in a deep breath, its chilly today and her clothes are damp. She is easily replaced and accused of many things, yet turning a deaf ear to something she doesn’t need to hear. As a song plays taking a deep breath as she feels her heart skip a beat “Black Widow Baby, Rita Ora.” A visual enters her mind, as fingers glide over a piano a rhythm appears within her mind in a fogged white aura. Hearing a whisper of a satisfied woman’s voice. Grabbing the stirring stick she blends all three ready to enjoy a nice hot cup of coffee. How this place brings a comfort of what use to never be here, with a churches embrace and business owners even the little people of the community. Creates something that becomes reality, the day the doors opened to this comforting place. Walking back to her place she is a volunteer here thankful from someone who believes in her. Getting what needs to get done small conversation embrace the little cozy place. As the stove, and fireplace burn. A small library to her left how very few read those books, yet those who do, enjoy them. And what a sweet touch they have on that little library of their own. Remembering a child born, she smiles at the new mother, who returns the warmth in return. When shortly after another child is born and still young and beautiful he is, this small social group gets to watch these children grow becoming a part of a new world formed. She shrugs her shoulders, yeah perhaps she is crazy, remembering a car talking to her, and the thoughts that enter her mind to save and reform those who claim to be damned. Is that a bad thing? Another emotion touches her as an ex fiancée/lover walks in her back stiffens as she thinks of another. The memories from that relationship were too intense and filled with failure and pain. Struggling with a devastating addiction that to this day can only be understood by another. In a world of judgmental values, she remembers what someone had said, if you have had men you love try to destroy you, getting knives pulled on you. Why be afraid? To those who have never seen such struggles and fought through just battles that do exist. Than the innocence and fear would rule them, her aggressive nature kicks in as does her confidence. She is part of this cruel world, she has made bad decision, yet she has saved a few lives that only one knows of. The prayers she has sent through heartfelt emotion is not manufactured by fear. It’s created by love that is held deep within the ones who never express this emotion so easily. She isn’t the only one that can see everything that has been done here. She isn’t the only that has helped a drug addiction from dying from an overdose, she isn’t the only one that has tapped it the hopeless life that isn’t remembered or seen. If you don’t become a part of you will never understand. Highly recommended you don’t how angels can be born or created by the struggles that build the life they live daily. Perhaps once again she’s a moron, yet in line of sight and what she has read, not all angels’ destroyed just created. Is there an afterlife, she wonders as she watches a net flick movie, watching a new couple walk through the doors of the Aurora Commons. Nothing else needs to be said and no name needs to be placed only those who are here daily know who’s typing it. Never part of a click or the deadly and beautiful that walk through here, with a definite truth to those words there are beautiful women here. Even some very attractive men walk in through these doors. Yet what has appearance have anything to do with it, who writes about she, do you know what she looks like. Others do, some will even point her out even tell you who she is on the internet. Sipping on her coffee she holds the cup twice getting her hands warm as she listens to the ladies announce they need Christmas gifts. A gentle flutter touches her heart how she loves those who have been here, and still remain here. Would it really matter on who types this book, yes it does, it will never be the same. Every writers has a specific touch to what they write a certain emotion they feel as they tap into the world of creativity. She just blames it on an over active imagination.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Nov 2014 23:47:43 +0000
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