The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

From indytony: One red rose in the Bible, pressed between the holy alphabet....

Today's post from indytony made me stop and think for a while. From his post, here is what showed up from the depths of my strange mind...She stood at the stove, stirring a pot of something she could no longer see. Her husband grumbled in the next room, his mood showing no sign of the thankfulness the holiday was supposed to inspire. Thanksgiving dinner as a new bride was not exactly what she'd hoped. The ringing of the phone brought her out of her reverie; she answered it quickly with hopes of joy on the other end that would remove her from what was surely a cruel joke of life. "Hello?"And on the other end, joy. It was her true love, the one whom she'd never dare tell what she truly felt. "Please, come take me away from all this," she longed to say, but instead shared that she was married and presently was stirring the gravy.A click, and he was gone, not just off the phone, but from her life. She saw moments reflected in the haze atop the slowly settling gravy and remembered a time before, when she was close to him, before she'd lost him, and herself. A tear, stirred into the gravy.She placed the meal silently on the table and in preparation for the Thanksgiving meal prayer, moved to the Bible on the shelf. Her Bible. The one her husband never looked at or touched. She flipped to Song of Solomon 2:16--"My lover is mine and I am his" (NLT) and stroked the dried pedals of the one red rose she kept there, pressed between the holy alphabet of the book and her heart.

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