LGBTQ+ Short Story: Walking Through the Blossoms

This was the trip Einar had been looking forward to for the better part of three months. It had felt like eternity passed since the last time he was able to travel. The more he was able to venture to different places and see different environments the more inspiration he felt. Poetry flowed from him freely, and he loved it. But there was nothing going to best the inspiration he felt, the joy he experienced, when he would finally see Chasin’s face again. Iceland was a fairytale come to life when the two had stumbled upon one another, but that was nearly a year ago. Berlin was confirmation that the two really felt something special when they were together. His mind wandered off to the night they made love in the hotel. The city lights sparkled in the large window of their room like stars. Music played softly in the background, and the mild scent of vanilla and cedarwood filled the room. They had showered together and used some off-brand soap they had never heard of before, but it smelled amazing. Clumsily falling onto the full-size mattress throwing their towels to the floor next to the pile of winter jackets and long underwear, they held their kiss. The room disappeared, and they were floating, suspended in the euphoria of what they felt. The emotions that stirred every time Chasin held his hand was a feeling he never wanted to be without again, and he knew it.

LGBTQ+ Short Story: Walking Among the Snowflakes

The sun had barely broken past the buildings behind me, but it had already cast its pinkish morning hue to everything around me. I gazed, unaware of my surroundings, at the chiseled and crumbling pieces of the Berlin wall that remained as part of a memorial. It was, as it still is, difficult for me to understand the extreme nature of a time when an entire city could have a thick concrete wall cutting through it. The cold winter air bit at the exposed flesh of my face. I had only just arrived in Berlin two nights prior, but I felt like it was a city, The City, I belonged in. My flannel lined Chinos, dark blue, barely held the cold radiating from the metal bench I sat upon from numbing the back side of my legs.

Blackwood Forest: The Naked Werewolf

The moon was inching its way down as the forest began readying itself to welcome a new dawn. It was still dark, but light would surely break soon. It was the still calm hours of early morning that Wren loved. The faint scent of fire, wafting out into the woods from the nearest houses to its edge, hung lightly in the air. Wren soaked it all in through his heightened senses. Having recently changed back into human form from his wolf-self, everything felt far more intense.

Motivational: Forget Mistakes?

Forgetting past mistakes and failures can be a positive thing, on an individual level, but, as a societal whole, it is not necessarily the appropriate response. While I do advocate for self-growth, for myself and those around me, with the idea that you should not allow your past mistakes to define your future, ignoring them as a society is a sure-fire way to repeat them. On an individual level, keeping mistakes and failures ever-present in our mind is not beneficial for achieving the target goal of becoming a better citizen of this beautiful and diverse world. We should learn from them, move past them, and chart a new course accordingly.

LGBTQ+Short Story: Walking Between the Raindrops

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The sun was trying, albeit with little success, to break free of the thinning, grey clouds that filled the Icelandic sky. The ground was still wet from the recent rain, and before long, it would most likely be wet again. I sat admiring the shifting cumulus clouds that made shapes and half-imagined realities float past me. I had found my way into downtown Reykjavik without getting soaked, and that small victory quickly widened my smile. The morning was cold, despite being the first part of June, but I didn’t mind; I’ve always rather favored cooler temps.

Poetry: The Flame

What burns within, will show its flame without;

no thought is ever hidden.

A fiery desire, consumed by chance,

will always come to light.

Dancing flames, lick the wounds;

a heart yet not forgiven.

To ignite the truth and stand engulfed,

by the pyre you know is right.

Poetry: Liquid; Love

Heavy drops of rain, hide tears;

there is no pain.

Clean; they wash me, I am

never the same.

Open to the sky; fall,

letting it go.

Silhouette lined, sun peeks,

a moment I know.

Sunset showers, I am wet;

no more tears.

Petrichor, sight stealing breath;

I linger, only here.

Poetry: The “M” word

The “M” word.

Do I believe in miracles? I smile and nod my head.

Poetry: Cycle

Cycle

Falling drops of refracted light; the sun catches time.

Like moments frozen in place, only centuries can find.

Vast blue spans upward; a remaining chance to look.

The clouds above and salt below; the light, so overtook.

A singular sight before the crash; form water to water again.

The last and the first, in perpetual cycle; the end is where it begins.

Poetry: Reverie

Reverie

Thoughts; each carry you to places, few could dream of.

Dreams; each lift you to places rarely seen.

Free to roam an open mind; no limits to bind them.

Where anything is possible, if you only dare…

…upon them…

…to lean.