Love Short Story – Speaking Wounds
Photo credit: cohdra from morguefile.com
Gale,
It’s something I have said a million times: Yes, I miss you. I know it has been a long time since the wall of silence has stood strong between us. But I can’t stand it anymore.
You have no idea how empty my day feels without you. You have no idea how I crave for every look of yours. You’re not just the smile of my life, you’re something more. The peace.
Right now these string of words might look to you as a mere thread but if you look beyond, you might get what you mean to me for real. Life, as they as say, is not easy but without you, it’s unimaginable.
I have seen you being the mean guy, I have seen you being the one who always leaves but that’s alright. You, is all I want.
I won’t mind if you smother me. I won’t mind you abandon me by the aisle. All I ask for is you to come back. Take the clock but just come back!
When you’re near, here, right by my side. The sun is brighter. The sky? It’s blue than ever. Suddenly I see love all around the world. The gravity plays no role. It’s you. Your appearance seems to wind my eyes.
Everything makes sense. Even if it doesn’t.
I won’t call myself all the superlatives. I know I am not. I don’t intend to be but I love you. Isn’t that enough?
Near you, I feel my heart palpitating. For real. I see it melting. My worries, the blackness of my life seem disappearing. I breathe life. I live it. For a while, I do. I realize why I am here. I realize the inscrutableness of these four letters.
You are in every part of my thoughts. It’s inseparable.
I always knew what was loss meant but getting torn from a part of your soul is excruciating.
The word “Happiness” comes from you in my life and it ends the moment you’re gone.
I had never thought of losing you. Only because, in my part, I can’t imagine.
It’s something harder than writing in the waters. It’s harder than not getting burnt in a fire.
It’s something beyond everything I know of .
I wish I could speak out this whole on your face but it really is easier to be said than done. I wish you knew, exception is what I call you, you would know!
I wish I could at least be the postman today but empty houses don’t receive letters, do they?
I had insisted myself to let you go. But not like this. Inside the grounds covered with withered roses. Sorry, it would be too hard to breathe. To breathe the air of you being buried, of your ashes.
For all I wish I could tell you how much I miss you.
For once.
– Pamela
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