Adena M'lynn's Voice

Some people say life is like a box of chocolates— silky choices, soft centers, surprises wrapped in gold foil like blessing after blessing waiting to be unwrapped. But me? My life… my life is more like a dollar-store pack of cherry sours. Yeah— those bright red, round little lies that look sweet at first glance, glassed-over in sugar like they came from a childhood dream. You pick one up, thinking  finally — this one’s gonna be good. This one’s gonna melt sweet on the tongue, go down easy, be the kind of comfort you don’t have to brace yourself for. And the first one? Oh, the first one never misses. It hits you with that candy-coated promise— that  this  time, this moment, this chapter might actually be soft. That maybe the world has finally decided to taste like kindness. So you crave another. Another little red candleball to light up the dark with sugar and hope. But the next one? That next bite? It betrays you. Sour. Sharp. Like a memory you thought you swallowed years...

Rain is woman. She moves in silence, a thousand silver tongues whispering life back into the dust. Fire is harm. It comes loud, cracks open the night, devours until nothing is left but blackened corners. When the flames die down, what’s left is the stench— smoke clinging to walls, to lungs, to memory. What’s left is the smoldering, embers pulsing like cruel reminders that pain doesn’t vanish just because the blaze has burned out. Men with matches call it love, but love does not leave a woman choking on ashes.  Love does not brand her skin with scorch marks. Yet rain— she returns anyway. She seeps into the ruin, turns char to soil, lays herself down on the embers until they lose their last breath of heat. Rain is woman. She carries the scars— but she also carries renewal. Though narcissistic men may set her aflame again and again, they will never outlast her. Because the stench fades, the smoke lifts, and what remains, always— is rain. ...