MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “romance”

Un-wilting

un-wilted rose

©MCD

The rose had entered her home on an anniversary. She was delighted because she didn’t expect he would remember, or more, that he would bring her something to celebrate. Instead, he surprised her with a beautiful crimson rose and a romantic dinner at a beachside restaurant.

Although every girl loves flowers, there is the downside that they don’t last too long. And unless you allow them to dry up so you can keep them a while longer to remind you of a lovely memory, most flowers simply wilt away after a few days. If you’re lucky, they may last a couple of weeks. But that’s pretty much it.

But this rose was different.

Five months later it was still there. Standing firm and tall in its square glass vase, not having dropped a single petal. The only thing that changed was that it’s colour had become darker.

She was amazed at how it persisted. And she boasted about it to her friends, secretly hinting that it was a sign of a strong and loving relationship.

He was happy to see her eyes glow every time she looked at the un-wilted rose. But he reassured her it did not mean that others wouldn’t follow. It was just that where they come with deep emotion, they survive for longer.

That’s usually the case with most things. When you take care of them they endure.

To the moon

https://metrouk2.files.wordpress.com/2017/04/pri_36173762.jpg?w=748&h=519&crop=1

“You owe me a full moon”

He found the note when he returned from work that night. She wasn’t there waiting. She had told him she wouldn’t be. She had asked for a moonlight stroll that day. But he was called urgently into work. He could not refuse. There was nothing more she could say.

She had returned to her apartment convinced that sometimes work took priority over her and there wasn’t much she could do in these financially hard times. Work was getting the best of all of us.

The good thing about full moons is that they come every month. Like a female cycle. And there not all that different from each other. It all depends on the circumstances and mood you view them in.

He rang her front door bell at an hour when she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. She was pleasantly surprised. He appeared at her door with a pink rose. She asked what he was doing there at that time. She knew he was tired after work.

I’m taking you to the moon” is all he said.

Autumn scenes

autumn-luxembourgIt’s when the weather changes that you see that different side of people you always suspected was there but never truly saw. It’s when the leaves change from green to yellow-orange-brown; when they fall and they crunch as you walk on them that you feel something peculiar take over the air. It’s that sense that another season arrives and with it other expectations, longings, desires, another form of waiting; waiting for something unknown but exciting simultaneously.

Christine gazed out the window at the autumn carpet that now decorated the palace gardens. The fallen leaves imbued a note of melancholy to the marble arches and fountains that for centuries stood in place. She was waiting for something. Maybe even someone. Perhaps a prince charming on a white stallion. But right now, she would be satisfied with even the slightest of actions out of the ordinary. Any simple gesture showing her that someone cared. Someone in particular.

As the leaves rustled in the wind, she considered it pointless, and turned away from the large window.

That is when it happened though.

The faint crackle of leaves being trodden upon. And then the ticking of pebbles being thrown on the glass.

Christine ran back to the window and looked out, her heart beating fast with excitement.

Right underneath stood, dressed in elegant attire fit for royalty, Diego, the errant boy who for so long had been in love with her. He was too scared of rejection to say anything. And thus, they both continued their daily lives not knowing. Unaware of their feelings for each other. Waiting for something to change, without even trying.

With the coming of autumn though, some hearts become bolder to reveal the love they hide inside.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Waiting

The waiting machine

crook2

©Sandra Crook

It stood there, in the corner of the room gathering dust. Its glimmering black had faded, as rust consumed its interior. It remained exactly as it was left, 75 years ago. Waiting to finish the job it had started.

The old sewing machine was Martha’s prized possession. She had been the first in town to possess one, and people would travel for miles to have their outfits sewn on that very machine. That’s how Martha met Spencer.

The day he went off to war, she began sewing a dress to greet him with on his return. It was never finished.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Coffee in the park

https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/t/paper-coffee-cup-book-grass-green-summer-sunlight-park-55085045.jpgHe was waiting for her with a book in hand outside the small coffee shop where they had agreed to meet at 6pm sharp. She was ten minutes (fashionably) late. On purpose, of course. His eyes lit up when he saw her approaching. She tried to hide the glow of her own eyes through the dark sunglasses she still wore even though the sun had already began to set.

He greeted her and told her he would like to go sit on the green hill opposite the café where people went to gaze at the world as it went by a few feet away from them. She agreed without hesitation. It was an alternative offer to a mere coffee appointment and she was curious to see where it would lead.

He ordered the coffee and took her hand. She couldn’t help but blush, even after all this time.

The last time she had seen him a week ago she had left in a rush to hide her tears. He was as cold as an iceberg. But both their pride made them stubborn enough to remain apart even though they wanted to be together.

For minutes, they discussed the people that walked past, the streetlights, the current events, everything other than what was truly on their minds.

Then she dared ask, “what is this book you have?” She was a bookworm and he knew it. She could get lost in books as though she was drowning in an ocean.

He didn’t look at her, but a faint smile formed on his face. “There are some things I can’t say. It’s what you complain to me about. That I don’t speak enough. Or, rather, I don’t tell you how I feel enough. So I found another way to do so. I want to read you something. It’s exactly what I want you to know. What I wish I could say to you. What I want you to understand about me.

She gazed at him as he took the book – a blue one with yellow pages – and opened it to the marked page. He cleared his throat and began to read, gently as though in a lullaby, with emotion emanating from every word he pronounced.

I love you even when I hate you. Even when I want to be angry at you, I can’t. Because I’ve fallen so deep, I can’t get out. And I don’t want to. I become silent because I fear of you knowing this. Because it scares me that I am so vulnerable at your hands. That I lose all control when I’m with you, when I simply lay eyes on you. You awaken in me everything I want to be. That better person I would like to be, the one I strive to become. I say nothing because I want to say a lot. Because I fear you’ll realise you deserve so much better than me. That I am not worthy of someone like you. Whatever adjectives I find to describe you will never be enough. And I fall silent because I fear that you will realise you deserve better and walk away. I know I become overly jealous and possessive. It is the fear in me coming out. And that turns into anger because I am afraid I won’t be able to keep you. I love you even when I say I don’t. Because you have awakened in me an emotion that I never knew existed. And I love you for being you. For being here with me. For loving me.”

He closed the book and she swallowed with difficulty. She turned her head quickly away because she didn’t want him to see the tears forming in her eyes. She managed to keep them from trickling down.

That’s beautiful,” she told him. “Who wrote it?

He opened the book again to the marked page.

I did,” he said and revealed the yellow post-it he had written it all on.

That morning chime

http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N-xUOWikPkE/U-1H94SMqtI/AAAAAAAAFUI/S4hatweMUvA/s1600/1011121_595395180537127_2018289007_n.jpgThe first day they met she had been woken up by the sweetest chime she had heard. And just outside her window, sat a blue-necked sparrow, as if waiting for her to lift her hand so it could chirp its way right on to it.

She was a farm girl and proud of it. She found comfort among her four-legged farm-mates and was extremely content with simply roaming across the fields, either on horseback, in the mini-truck, or on foot. There was always one animal or other running alongside her and she felt that they could completely understand what she was saying or even feeling. She had yet to feel that with a human.

Until that very day.

It is strange how life throws things at you, just when you’re ready to accept them. Even if you don’t realise that at the time. Because that very morning, she thought nothing of the sparrow’s visit. It was only after weeks, that her mind recalled the symbolism.

That morning she rushed to catch the train to the nearby city. She was tasked with obtaining supplies ahead of the long weekend. Her stalling to admire the little bird, however, meant she lost the early train, which she was supposed to have travelled with. So she took the next one.

He was on that one.

He sat opposite her, mesmerized by the innocence radiating from her eyes.

But she paid no attention. She was still thinking of the sparrow, while staring out of the window at the morning dew.

He coughed, dropped his phone by accident and they bumped heads as they both moved to pick it up. That was all it took to get her talking. Her laughter resounded in his ears for days later. And she was enthralled by how alike they were. He was the son of the neighbouring landowner. They had the second largest estate in the town and she found paradise in his property and in his heart.

The sparrow never returned. At least not until today.

It had played its role. Now it was their turn to keep things moving. A little effort is all it really takes.

All the difference

https://www.daysoftheyear.com/wp-content/images/romance-awareness-month-e1430661391688-804x382.jpgIt is something we often neglect or not pay enough attention to. The very simple fact that it is those small things that make the greatest difference. From the way you dress, to the way you wear your hair, to the accessories you choose to adorn you.

It is the way someone looks at you. The gestures they make when they talk to you. The words they use to express themselves; even the spelling mistakes they write. The force they exert when they shake or hold your hand. The aura they emit when they’re around you.

It is the glow of their smile when they look at you. The way they show you they care and make you feel special. The way they make you forget everything else and everyone around you.

It sometimes makes all the difference in the world.

It is the borderline between not wanting the moment to end, and wishing something would happen so you could get up and leave.

It is those little things, which we so often take for granted, that hold in their very essence the future of entire relationships.

Lost in a moment

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Q3Xj2b7frPM/maxresdefault.jpgHe stood there silent, scintillating under the night sky as the sweat droplets emerged on his forehead. His mouth had run dry and the alcohol he was consuming did not really help. He felt his heart beat faster as the adrenaline pumped his body rhythm up four beats. His gaze was fixed. On her.

She was a girl who had managed to capture his interest since the first moment he laid eyes on her. That moment when he accidentally fell right onto her while they were both heading from different directions to the bar. It was a week since and he had still to garner the courage to talk to her.

Her long golden brown curls swayed in the night air as she moved along the beat of the music that blasted from the club’s loudspeakers. He was mesmerized and petrified at the same time. He could see that men around the club had been imprisoned by her. By her looks. By her soft treading along the dance floor. By the way she smiled and her eyes sparkled. By how she seemed so carefree.

People need that. That feeling of being somewhere and forgetting everything else. Being lost in that very moment. In that dance. In that conversation. In those eyes staring at you while the world around you disappears.

But, like everything in life, to gain something you must also give something back. It takes courage to put yourself out there. But once you do, you’ll probably wonder why you hadn’t been as bold sooner.

Lucky disorientation

back-ally1

© Jan Marler Morrill

There is a reason she was told not to go out alone, even during daylight. She had no sense of orientation whatsoever, setting out for the beach and somehow reaching the mountains.

On that idyllic island, she realised what her horoscope had described as “luck or fate”.

On that white and blue deserted back alley is where she found him. Standing like a Greek statue under the scorching sun. As if he was waiting there for her to arrive. His eyes shimmering in the sun. She smiled, accentuating her dimples, and she could see him blush.

Her name was Aphrodite.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Something about food

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/sites/default/files/recipe_images/recipe-image-legacy-id--1273545_8.jpgFrancine was not a particularly chubby little girl. She was actually not chubby at all. You might even say she was underweight for her age and height. But she loved to eat. She enjoyed every food she tasted. She said that if you couldn’t relish in the feast of flavours that awakened your taste buds, then you might as well not be eating at all.

Francine knew not only how to eat well, but also how to cook it too. She delighted in experimenting with new ingredients, with the most unexpected combinations, and cooking up new recipes that she could then present and amaze her guests. It was something different and certainly something remarkable.

Her favourite of all, however, was dessert. She knew well that people always wanted something sweet after any dish and acknowledged the importance of serving a dessert that melted in your mouth, arousing your senses.

And the best ingredient of all to do this was, of course, chocolate.

That is what she was melting to pour on top of the new vanilla and nut cake she had just made the day the doorbell rang.

She turned off the stove and took off her apron, as she opened the door.

He was standing there like a deity, unaware of how his eyes glistened as they reflected the sunlight from the open balcony door behind her.

Hi,” he said, staring at her, mesmerized.

He was a delivery man who had just brought Francine the new cooker her godmother had sent her from Australia.

That was the day her life changed. And it was not just because of the better quality food…

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