There was a story I once heard that made me cry. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the story was but I remember the raw emotions I felt listening to it. I remember connecting with the source that created the well from which the entire sadness in the whole world was being taken. It was like, for a moment, I swam in sadness itself.
And sadness, let me tell you, is not just the feeling. It is a place. It is a being.
It’s that season that we have hoped for for so long. A season with long cold nights, and the sound of rainfall on the window. When mornings would gladly be pushed back as far as possible while we cuddle under the sheets.
We thought it would fix everything wrong. We hoped and prayed it would.
It was a few minutes before midnight. The street was deserted and the yellow street lamps cast a warm shade on the empty road.
She was wearing my sweater and we were walking arm in arm, her head gently resting on my shoulder. It was a peaceful night and all I could think about was how lucky we were to be together.
Tonight is the 63rd night you’ve been gone.
I try not to keep track. I try to move on and do other things like drinking myself to stupor or cutting myself. Yet those pains are dull compared to the gaping wound you left in my heart.
The nights are the worst because you are always present when I close my eyes. Then I wake up and remember you’ve been gone for that long.
I thought to come after you once, to try to make things right and live out the remainder of our days how we planned we would.
Remember?
I checked the clock by the bedside, its light glowing, almost pulsating in the dark room – a reflection of my feelings before morning. It was 3:15. I couldn’t believe it’s just been 2 minutes since I last checked.
Instinctively, I reached my hand to the other side of the bed but it met nothing save the cold empty space beside me.
I miss her.
Nights like this are always the longest. Nights when I know that by sunrise I’ll see her again.
The days he left, I cried. Yes, actual tears fell.
Continue reading “Morning Sunrise (flash fiction)”
And love was the culprit yet again. Not that we hated the way we felt when we were in love. Not that we never wanted to feel that way again nor was it that those days were better forgotten. No… But we knew. We understood the cost and the price was not worth the cost. Continue reading “Love’s to blame”
Maybe a good reason to leave a bad relationship would have been the absence of emotion, maybe it would have sufficed to believe that that was a good enough indication that something more was needed… Continue reading “I love me enough but…”
