This was written for dVerse Prosery. Thank you.

Unfortunately this is not as much fiction as I would like to provide.

Photo by Jonathan Mast on Unsplash


Anger, so much anger. Swinging from non-existent beams to floorboards. Dancing flagrantly on holidays when moods were high, children asleep. Alcohol-fueled, cheating aside, inside, revised.

I never knew who I was to be, but I did know I wanted to laugh, give. Unfortunately, I was almost empathic. Emotions became me. I tried to understand, respond, become.

When I was 11, I took a terminal walk with my daddy. His last. His gasping heart, attack, a third, lying down on a mound between the two steams I played in, that became the home of his final consciousness.

I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended. I was barely myself; I was barely anyone because I wanted to be everyone, available. Until, I felt, I was nothing, nothing at all.

Because I was still lost, there, demolished, on a stream bank.


6 thoughts on “Lost

  1. Oh this is a heartbreaking write.
    The one thing about the dVerse pub, is it is a place where we can gather. And in today’s pandemic world, those brick and mortar places are closing left and right. So in our dVerse pub, virtual hugs are encouraged….the is no enforced social distancing. So – consider yourself hugged!

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