The Way It Should Be In “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin and “Love Should Grow Up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields” by Susan Griffin, the two authors show the irony of the different ways love presents itself in relationships. The theme of irony is depicted by bringing to light the misconception of where love is found in relationships, and more importantly, where it is not. Chopin’s short story depicts a marriage where the wife felt more of an obligation towards her husband than love and he...

i challenged pain and wrestled love, only to be reacquainted with my old companion loneliness. now the silence is so loud, i want to tell my heart to shut up. i shouldn't say, i miss the view of my world from me and you. i remember your voice wishing sweet dreams, and then off to bed to snuggle with the promise of tomorrow. instead i have words of finality playing on a broken record and tomorrow never comes. quietly, i miss the view of my world from me and you. we dance a dance of do's and do...

I’ve been looking for magic most of my life. Trying to see it in faces and feel it in touches but all it would leave me was empty. My life was a puzzle I’d struggled relentlessly to solve and questions would plague and poke me, wondering if I would ever find the missing part to my heart. Then God led you into my life and instantly nothing became everything. You brought me happiness by the arms full and then took my hand to lead me where there was even more. You revealed the magic I had overlo...

I was beautiful once. and knew love by it's first name. It was brief, But for a short while, I knew what it was to be valued; and to feel like my feet did not touch the ground. It was a magic carpet ride, flying and soaring and gliding through time that seemed to never run out. But there was less sand than I imagined in the hourglass of us. It seems like forever ago The last hour, the last minute, The last second, in your arms. Fingertips on my skin; The gentleness of you. Hearing you whisper...

The first time I heard your voice My heart whispered To let you in. You had knocked and were waiting But my last visitor Had left things out of place. And a smell of rotten happiness I had learned to live with. So, you waited. Patiently And silently I hoped You would go away. Every day you would knock again And every day I would peep out, From the inside with White knuckles fighting to turn the lock. Until one day I closed my eyes And held my breath, And cracked the door, just a little. Enoug...