Words left unsaid

He had walked out a month ago, but still had his keys. The keys to the home they built together, the one that would house their common dreams.

They hadn’t spoken since.

She didn’t know what he was doing, where he was, what he worked on, how he was feeling. She only had her viewpoint. And that was biased.

It was pitch black outside when she got up. Even the lights had all been turned off. It was the usual hour she felt forced out of bed, too tormented by nightmares to remain lying there trying to sleep.

She took a pen and paper, rarely nowadays abandoning her keyboard, and this meant it was too important to type. It had to be handwritten to reflect the emotion it contained.

“At night, when I can’t sleep, I write to you. Letters, I’ll never send and you’ll probably never read. But it helps me calm down during the nights I’m tortured by the thoughts in my head. When the chaos inside me overwhelms and devours me. I write to tell you what you can’t seem to hear from me. I write in an effort to make you understand. To make you see that even a dragon hides a frightened mouse inside. That sometimes all you need is the reassurance and certainty of having someone next to you at all times, no matter what and above everything and everyone else. I thought that was you. Not to heal me. You wouldn’t do that. But to help me heal myself. Love won’t heal wounds. The feeling of safety and being loved no matter what, who and when, is what makes a person stronger. What helps them heal themselves.

You were supposed to stick around for the hard times too, not just the good ones.

We were supposed to grow stronger together, to grow with each other, helping one another to develop into the best person they can be. We were supposed to form a unit as one – a force to reckon with, a single corps against the world. We were supposed to be ‘us’. A power couple. We were supposed to be allies to one another. Not to demolish each other, ripping ourselves apart from the inside. We were supposed to close each other’s scars, not create new ones.

Yet despite everything – all the words said, all the actions done (or not) – I still wait for you. In the sounds of daily life, in the phone calls that ring, the doors that knock, I longingly hope it will be you. I see you in every single thing that reminds me of you. I still hope you’ll come into my darkness and turn on the light. The light that faded and is now lost. My light that I allowed to be extinguished.

Yet you never do.

That itself should be a sign. Just like all those things we didn’t do: the trips we never went on, the plans we never followed through. All signs. An answer to all the ‘whys’ that won’t let my mind rest.

Yet I still wait. Hoping even now for something to change. Because hope is all we have left.”

In the morning, she booked a plane ticket and left. That same afternoon, he used his keys again.

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Box of Memories

Three words. Four sides. A lifetime. A box, however big or small, is used to store things you don’t want to throw away, yet don’t want them in plain sight. The box we most cherish is the one that holds our memories. Some keep it inside their head. In that special place with all the thoughts they love to bring to mind. Others have a physical container filled with memorabilia from times that were too special for them to ever forget.

Each memory box is unique for every person who has one. Because not everyone has the same perception of the things that matter. Some people are overly sensitive, saving theatre tickets, beer caps, hand-written notes, printed photos, even dried-up flowers. They are things that encase more than a simple memory; a feeling that is worth remembering. Because it was at that time when they felt serene, loved and happy. When they believed that ‘forever’ is more than just wishful thinking but rather a word that could gain the meaning they want if they try hard enough.

Others have boxes with fewer things: books, music, photo frames, souvenirs, even clothes. More practical entities of what a memory entails.

But all have something in common: the memories we create are the feelings that make us stronger, more optimistic and resilient. They are proof that happiness does exist and will last as long as you are willing to nourish it.

No matter how many boxes of memories we create, we must all believe in the beauty of a happy ending. And the fact that we each deserve one.

The world and a star

The footsteps in the snow were still there when he woke. It was the last thing she left him when she slammed the door the night before.

She was tired of fighting. She was tired of the sudden mood swings. She was exhausted that every time everything seemed almost perfect, something – the tiniest glitch – would come along to ruin it all.

And it was usually an action incited by another person.

With Harry’s consent.

Of course.

Because Bertha knew well that if he had not wanted it to happen, he could simply say no. He could set his limits. He could actually show his girlfriend that he respected her. That he heard her when she told him repeatedly that she was bothered by certain behaviour. That he was loyal to her alone. Things, that if were the other way round, Harry would not have reacted so calmly or tolerate it all.

Bertha tried to be the bigger person.

But sometimes, even the strongest people break too.

Because all a person truly wants, is the certainty that the person they love will choose them over everyone else, under any circumstance.

She gave him a choice.  She shouldn’t have had to.

But he did not choose her.

She threw away the balloons and the present she was to give him during the surprise party she had organised for him the next day.

It didn’t matter now.

He had not chosen her.

He had placed everything else above what she thought was something that would last through hail and storm.

She would have given him the world. But he was too stubborn to even give her a star.

 

“When you love a woman
You tell her that she’s really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one…”
                                                   (Have you ever really loved a woman – Bryan Adams)

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Loyal

The rusty boat

©Georgia Koch

It was left stranded by the lake. A wooden boat, which once hosted their dreams of a life together. It had been the seat of their soft embraces, their loud laughs and their endless conversations. Now all that was left was a reminder of what could have once been.

Constantine could not bear to let it go. He knew it was worse having it there, a daily reminder of her, knowing she would never return. But he simply could not part with it. He preferred the pain of remembrance than forgetting that he once had touched upon his heart’s desire.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Words of the wise

“Do you remember what it was like the first time you got on a roller-coaster? The excitement you felt when standing in line, the thrill that engulfed you as you took your seat, the adrenaline rush, the fear and the nausea, and the pleasant relief at the end? Life is like that. Like a roller-coaster. Love is like that too. In time you learn to become stronger and wiser. But that does not mean you stop loving. Or living”.

Grandma May always had a way with words. Her voice was as soothing as a hot cup of chamomile tea. And she always knew exactly what to say at precisely the right moment. Tricia could think of no other person to turn to whenever she needed a word of advice, a shoulder to cry on, or simply a hug.

Ever since she was a young child, she would run to Grandma May whenever she scraped her knees and needed consolation, whenever she would fight with her parents for some reason or other, whenever she felt betrayed by her friends, and, above all, whenever she experienced a heartache. The latter was Grandma May’s specialty. It was not everyone who could mend a broken heart. But Grandma May knew all too well what it felt like, enough to be able to convince even the most heartbroken of creatures that they will survive. She never told Tricia what she herself had gone through in life. Even when she outright asked, Tricia would never get a clear response, only some sort of wise-person talk, like something Yoda from Star Wars would say.

“How can you be so sure that a love like that will come again? What if that was it? If you had your chance and you missed it? Where will I ever find someone who loves me as much? Who will care for me so? Who will I find to match with so perfectly?”

Tricia was firing out questions as if her torso was a machine gun that had been kept silent for too long. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she lay in Grandma May’s arms and wondered how life can go on after such intense pain.

Grandma May had brought tissues, tea, cookies and a blanket. And she decided to tell her a story.

“A long time ago, when there were enough women and men to form communities, the first heartache appeared. For now, people were free to choose who they wanted their partner to be. When a pair was formed it was usually for life. But on rare occasions, the couple split. They simply decided they could not continue on the same path together because their thoughts were heading on two different trains. I know you’re probably wondering what these prehistoric people were thinking about, but I’ll have you know that ever since our hearts began to beat, our minds began to think. The couple who split up ran to their own families and asked exactly the same questions you do now. It is natural. Everyone does. It is part of the process. The wisest man in the village – he also happened to be the eldest – took each aside on separate occasions and told them this: In our lives, we all must pass through different stages in order to grow. Just as we go through extreme jubilation when we are happy, we also go through severe depression when we are sad. But our minds and bodies have developed their own mechanism to deal with these roller-coasters. It is something you may know as the Kübler-Ross model, or more simply the five stages of grief. It consists of the stages we go through in order to, in a sense, mourn for a period of our lives that has passed. In these five stages we go through denial (refusing to accept that this phase in our lives is over); anger (at everything and everyone for having led to this); bargaining (in an attempt to make things right if something else where to be done or if we tried harder); depression (because you begin to realize that you have to go on alone, no matter how much you may miss your previous life phase); and acceptance (when you truly acknowledge the fact that life goes on and you must rejoice the memories and become stronger through the experience). It is our process for recovering, becoming more resilient and moving one. Above all, however, it takes time. And just like every heartbroken soul that came after this couple, we all survive. It takes time and patience and lots of strength, but it does work. Keep yourself busy – but don’t forget. Learn new things – but don’t regret. Become tougher – but don’t stop being kind. You will get through this. Everyone always does.”

Tricia was watching Grandma May dumbfounded. She had stopped sniffing and sat there mesmerized by her words. She had nothing to say. No words could come forth to be uttered at this moment. Maybe it was better that way.

So, she got up and brought a board game for her to play with wise Grandma May.

Cold Black Hearts

 

 

 

 

 

Black clouds fill the sky
Dark as my heart.
The cold freezes the misty air.

I sit here alone
the snowflakes melting
into raindrops.

There is no warmth,
No fireplace lit. The memories
are burning.

You forgot and so easily
moved on. But my soul
is still hurting.

Shattered dreams
like broken glass
never the same again.

There is no life
in winter’s frost. No love,
no remedy.

It’s time for something
fresh. A new start.
Maybe next year.

One box is never enough

They say that one of the steps to healing is practicing a ritual where you place every physical object that reminds you of a story that ended into a box. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe it will work. But this ritual is much harder than it seems.

You can place things in a box. Like photographs, notes, letters, soft toys, books, memorabilia, even clothes. But how can you put away memories, experiences, feelings, hopes and dreams? How can you erase from your mind events that happened and made you stronger? How can you simply forget the feeling of carefree happiness? How can you simply chose not to remember?

It takes the slightest thing to associate with a memory – a song, a quote, a book, a movie, a TV series, a perfume, a game, a car, a dish – random everyday things that will get your eyes all welled up. Because no matter however much you try, a life cannot fit into a box.

And even if you do attempt to place as much as you can into a four-sided cardboard to stick at the back of your closet or under your bed, you will always have to face a single fact – that one box is never enough.