The Conundrum
Ruthie-Marie Beckwith



She was deep in thought as she considered the depths of dysfunction that held her love life captive. Her relationship with her cosmic mate had become yet another dangling participle in a long line of grammatical errors, still there, but not attached. What she needed was a sentence diagram, an expository essay, an authoritative source; something to guide her through what must be karmic refuse of past lives interfering with the present tense. Her life had become a thesaurus in search of a meaningful conjunction.

Action words could serve the purpose. She would steer clear of the passive voice and run, jump, leap, and soar. She would stand outside knee deep in prepositional phrases and serenade him with intransitive verbs. She would project superlatives across the ever-expanding schism between them. Lonely, lonelier, loneliest. Far, farther, farthest. Sad, sadder, saddest. Then again, she reflected, it might take an onslaught of forceful conjugations.

Alliteration might apprehend his attention in lieu of allegory. Onomatopoeia offered the option of oomph! Failing that, there still remained the sword and shield of analogy and simile. Her secrets are unfathomable fears curled up in a fetal position deep inside her womb. His aloofness is like rain clouds that hover ominously throughout a hot and humid summer day. Their prospects were balanced precariously on the tip of a euphemism.

Finally, she came to a conclusion. She'd pay homage to his contraction. She would offer up a simple sentence fragment. Love.



First published: November, 2003
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