If you were a mayflower, let’s assume

Then I would love you, make you laugh,

And help the season bloom.

As the month of May came around

Let the seasons know

Without my beloved flower

Nothing would ever glow.

As the day ends, the moon will

Rise with all its fame

But without my beloved flower

It would, too, have no claim.

So, if you were a mayflower, let’s assume

Then I would love you, make you laugh,

And help the season bloom.

Come.

Come here.

Come closer.

Come. Again.

Come again?

Go.

Go on.

Go for it.

Just go.

Just let go.

See.

See. Saw.

See the light.

See the truth.

See?

(A tongue-in-cheek take on this challenge)

The first time I met the devil was during divorce negotiations.

It began like a dream; infatuation, love at first sight, and unbridled passion. She was a beauty with brains, a university professor teaching mathematics. Me, a computer programmer who had a windfall with his current employer and got a handsome share of stock options as a joining bonus.

Our first real fight was just before marriage. She wanted a prenup and, besotted as I was, I read the agreement like a technical documentation and signed it. I wanted to get over all the humps so we could get to the good part. Then, we said our vows, promised to love, and respect each other till the end of time… which was today.

Flanked by our respective lawyers, we sat poker-faced in the room that smelled of varnish. I managed a glance at her and found a stare with the crooked smile I loved so much. Now, it seemed like a sly one.

As the lawyers exchanged notes, I avoided her gaze and scanned the room.

“Did you read the prenup before signing it?” My lawyer ended my reverie.

“Huh? What do you mean? Of course I did!” I was more embarrassed than angry.

“All of it, in detail?”

“Well, yeah. What’s the problem?” I frowned.

A sly smile across my wife's face told me the devil had got me.

“Here,” my lawyer flipped open the agreement to a page and almost broke his index finger jabbing at a sentence he wanted me to read: In the event of an irreconcilable dispute, party B (her name here) will receive everything divided by half…

A quick math told me I had to pay her twice of what I owned!

“Fuck me!” I managed.

“Already did.” She drawled.

Live bold, never hide,

Don't bow under duress.

When pain rises like a tide

Hold it with a smile, fearless.

When stars appear to fade away

Behind dark clouds of gloom,

Meet the darkness of dismay

With all the light you can subsume.

Who know this breath we inhale

May be the last one we release

Each precious moment is to avail

For love, laughter, and for peace.

It wasn't until he was upgraded to beta version of the AI implant that Jimmy could muster enough courage to talk about it. He sent a message to his friend, straight from his brain to the popular chat app.

“Hey Hugo, see you at the local tonight?”

A few minutes later, a faint buzz in his cranium told him Hugo had replied. 7 pm.

***

“What's up, Jimbo?” Hugo asked after they'd settled with a Schooner each, AC/DC making them yell.

“Not sure how to say this, mate.” Jimmy hesitated, “I have to share it with someone and I thought I could trust you.”

“Of course,” Hugo leaned in, “girl trouble again?”

Jimmy laughed. “Nah, not really!”

“Spill it, then!”

“Earlier this month, I signed up for a cutting-edge treatment–”

“For your introversion?”

“Yeah, but I wasn't sure how to tell anyone because–”

“You're an introvert.” Hugo finished his sentence, then asked. “So, how’s the implant going?”

Jimmy stared at Hugo. “How do you know?”

Hugo didn’t answer. Instead he pointed at the empty tumblers and asked. “Another beer?”

“Sure.”

Jimmy was intrigued. He knew Hugo’s obsession with technology and the barrage of links he sent on a regular basis. Jimmy never acknowledged but read them all. When Hugo came back with the drinks, he persisted.

“Hueg, your articles inspired me to get the implant and I do feel like a new man. I thought I would surprise you–”

“I am… surprised and happy.”

“But how did you already know about it?”

Hugo took a slow, deliberate sip of the beer and said. “I’m the designer of the implant. You’re my first test subject.”

“What?”

“Sorry, the test had to be blind. I was worried if you knew it was me, you wouldn't accept it. But I’m glad you’re alright!”

I wait with bated breath when the head crowns; there’s no going back now.

One last heave, one final push, and I admire the new life, the new heartbeat. All the tender moments spent conceiving, the months labouring, and the hours delivering seem worth it—even if they don’t show on your face, yet.

I cut the cord, wait for the cry, and hand her to you. If your beauty could be surpassed, then it could only be thus.

I notice her feet, the first steps of a lifetime. Countless moments await us; joy, worry, pride, tears, contentment.

I love you.

"Darling, you love comforts me like bright sunshine after a--" The scrap of paper said. It was my turn to vacuum the floors on Saturdays and right at the far end of our study table, just before it got sucked by the machine, I stooped and picked up the torn snippet. The scrawly hand wasn't mine and, in that moment, it was as if my life had been sucked by the vacuum cleaner. Who was writing Shakespearean love notes, albeit flawed, to my wife?

When Jen got home, I skipped the pleasantries and all but shoved the scrap of paper in her face.

"Oh, there it is!" She looked bewildered. "Where did you find it, love?"

"Don't love me!"

"I can explain--"

"You'd better get started then!" I stood akimbo, us barely inside the front door.

"It's not what you think."

"Then, tell me!" I demanded again.

"You know how..." She paused to think, "I decided to take up hiking again?"

"Yes, every Saturday. Five p.m."

"You remember, huh? Anyway, I met this guy--"

"What guy?" I was breathing down her face by now.

She backed up against the front door and her shoulders sank. "Well, he's part of a drama group--"

"I don't want to know what he does, ok?"

"No, I mean he asked me to join their troupe, and I did!"

"What has that got to do with this scrap, and why didn't you tell me?"

"I was about to..."

"But isn't Venus and Adonis a love poem, and not a play?"

"Yes, we're adapting several works into a collage drama, dear jealous Iago!"

Then, she punched me in the ribs and hugged me tight.