in NaBloPoMo2019, Prose

NaBloPoMo #19

Eros, for all his qualities, never learned to tidy up after himself. The love-drunk youth often misses, and leaves his arrows littered all around. And for the most part you’d never notice unless you walk barefoot where lovers trod; and even then you barely raise an eyebrow as a sliver of the heavenly weapon penetrates the skin.

Oh no, it’s not until very much later that you realise. Perhaps when your knee touches your friend’s as you chat over coffee for the hundredth time since you met them, or they graze the back of your hand reaching across for a pen, or they throw their head back and do that absurd laugh at one of your stupid jokes and you suddenly freeze as that sliver of an arrow slips into your heart and you say,

“Oh shit”

And a choir of bloody angels descends on you singing Hallelujah.


My point in this is to say that sometimes there are blooms in winter and that when you walk with your sole vulnerable to the earth you may, in time, delight in what entered in


November is National Blog Posting Month, or NaBloPoMo. I’ll be endeavouring to write one blog post per day in the month of November 2019 – some short and sweet, others long and boring.

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