Three 100 Word Stories of Love

Intro to the Stories

Love is not a simple emotion.

While there are many stories of love that pull the heart strings, inspire hope, maybe envy, or an ability to relate to the positive aspects of love, I want to explore a wider range of the emotion.

The first story is not a real story though, more an internal exploration. The other two are different kinds of love, and not entirely positive.

As the range of love stories increases of time, the concept of what love is and the influences it has on us spreads with it.

If you are looking for the romantic concept of love, I suspect these stories may disappoint. If you are open to considering different kinds of love, I hope you find something worthwhile here and in other love stories I write.

What is love?

What is love?

A caress?

A delicate emotional touch?

A desire to care?

Is it someone who walks beside you through the storm?

Or an internal acceptance of yourself?

Is it looking into the mirror, seeing the scars of your life and accepting it all?

Is love best given without expectation of a return?

Is it best given freely and widely?

Or is it precious, hidden and rarely shared?

Is it only possible when it begins with yourself?

Or can it be discovered through someone else?

Whatever the answer, it is warm, comforting and all embracing.

We all deserve it.

He speaks of hope

He speaks of colors, hopes, dreams.

He talks a good story. Smiles when he is meant to, cries on cue.

But I see lurking inside him, in the shadows of his words, a worrisome beast.

I believe I can fix him, but it is like mending a shadow. Fussing around its edges, smoothing the ground to remove the crinkles.

But it is a shadow, not the beast.

So long as nobody looks up, so long as people watch the smooth shadow, everything will be fine.

Until someone looks up.

But I don’t want to look, it will break the spell.

My new baby

He’s my newborn son.

Helpless.

The nurse said I can give him his first bath, but I just stood there looking at him. If I touch him, he becomes mine to protect forever. If I walk out the door, I can put it behind me.

I feel cold hearted.

The terrible story leading up to his birth, my mistakes. Her inconceivable behavior and malice.

He is my newborn son. If I touch him, he is mine forever.

My heart is darkened permanently, damaged for even considering the walk away.

So helpless.

I reach forward, pick him up, then bathe him.

2018-08-01T12:58:52+00:000 Comments

About the Author:

I write stories that are short. Not because they are easy, they aren't. It has more to do with being unable to stick to writing novels that become too complex and then mess with my head because I am a compulsive perfectionist. Plus I like short stories.

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