Ricardo Sevilla's Blog

A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.


 “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” – Ernest Hemingway


The Lie in December


I read the lifeless messages she addressed to me.


Reminders of the wasted years. Wasted gain.


Her sunlight was that of another world.


A world I craved to explore, to get lost in.


A world in which I did not belong.


There was much I did not understand, but her light was warm.


I came to discern my capability of falling anew.


She dispelled a fear that festered soon after my divorce long ago.


The dread of not seeing myself in the eyes of another.


A Balkan woman, with eyes of blue, held my reflection in captivity.


And she did so in the cruelest of ways.