an old writer and his words

  • UNSCRIPTED

    I am so tired of readinglines written for me by othersalways a cold readinglacking emotion and substance.I have my own voice, readyto deliver my soliloquy.I have been livingfor seven decades.But I know that Iwill be seen as yetanother Yorickushered off the stage.And I imaging myselfremembered by someone youngerwho will recall no morethan a passing memory.

    Lou Faber

  • AGAIN, FROM THE TOP

    How many years had it been?Neither of them wanted to count,each said they had moved on,neither knowing where on was.Yet when by chance they met againneither could say why it had ended,but each had been certain it wasthe other who had ended it, much,so very much to their surprise.That was always how it had been,each…

    Lou Faber

  • SOULMATE

    He had been lonelyfor as long as he could rememberalways wishing for loveor a relationship he could call love.That emotional emptiness hadbecome crushing and he knewhe had tried every possible option:church groups, singles events and bars,and countless dating sites and apps.He read that some like him,had turned to AI to createwhat his life was lacking.He…

    Lou Faber

  • COMPASSION

    You cannot discover compassion, itisn’t something you can buy on Amazonor find along the side of a rural road.It cannot be found in books, or giftedby ministers who promise anythingfor a tithe and pledge of your soul.It is something that exists within you,much as curiosity exists within a catalongside its own form of compassionthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • AT GRAVESIDE

    It is odd that cemeteries arequite often the site of oration,soliloquies delivered with great emotion,be it love, regret or anger.Often they are paeans or jeremiadsmeant to be delivered in personbut held back until it is only the stonethat bears the brunt of the words.And yet a burden is liftedfrom the speakers for they assumethe dead…

    Lou Faber

  • NOTHING TO FEAR BUT

    He knew his emotions swunglike a pendulum in an everwidening arc, and that centralto the swings was the pit of fearon the precipice of whichhe found himself yet again.Some days it was the fear of rejection,that was a practiced reality for himyet never less intensely painful.Other days it was the fear of acceptancefor with that…

    Lou Faber

  • RECONSTRUCTIONS

    Night descended on herlike an elevator untethered,her memories in freefall into darkness.She could not forget the storiesthe elder ones quietly told,the numbers always clothed over,their smiles forced or freely given,depending on the directionof the ever-present winds of emotion.She knew she was a prisoner of her past,her inheritance both joys and horrorsinterwoven into the fabric of…

    Lou Faber

  • ANTIPATHY

    Some of his acquaintences said his problemwas that he constantly demonstratedantipathy toward people, toward things.He knew, of course, that was not thecase but he dared not say that lestthey use it as yet another exampleof his antipathy. The reason, he leftunsaid, was that he didn’t have antipathy,it was that such an emotionrequired feelings about things…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE THAT

    There is a certain joy in writing fiction,for many readers will assume the protagonistis the author or at least partially basedon the author, never pausing to considerthat the villains and lesser charactersare just as likely to be based to some extenton the author or bits of his or her life.And often the readers are not…

    Lou Faber

  • OUT OF HIDING

    The hidden joy of youth, and itsinevitable disappointment, isin finding that special person.Each time it is the birth of true love,eventually, save in rare circumstances,it is the death of an illusionand the aching pain accompanying the loss. The certainty of youthful emotionis a bondage that is most often inescapable,and there is no desire to leave…

    Lou Faber