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Contemplating it alone is painful enough, re-living it is excruciating. Wait no – unbearable. Constant reminders of what we use to have, what we could still have, what we should still have tease me in an almost intolerant degree of deliberate and yet subtle mockery. Untold frustration to those around me surrounds my every glimmer at life so rich and happiness so plentiful amongst the satisfied superior in stature. Conversation remains strictly down to the necessities, no-one can know and no-one will know the untold tales of the past, which evade every man and woman in my new and disappointing life. Half empty, my heart pleads for the love once so natural and free. The type of love so pure that it requires no guilty gifts or complementary comments, the type which is showed in a home cooked meal or a goodnight kiss – it’s customary, routine. That’s the type of love we used to have, the type they call chemistry; they said we had the balanced formula. Yet you had to ruin the ‘modus operandi’ we once had. You decided that you weren’t fulfilled with our rich rewarding lives, instead resolute upon obsession with the cold, unsavoury nature of worthless money. I’m hollow inside; all the charisma that you built up inside me has deserted my body and there’s a void space reserved in my soul. I’m empty inside.
Selfish instigation on your part has me doubting every living, breathing creature that walks this planet. How can I ever trust anything again? How can I ever love anything again? How can I ever look at anything again? My world has fallen, like the rushing of an impatient stream or the descent of a departed soul. How much longer I can hold myself together, pull myself up; continue with this predictable of lifestyles? Without my life blood I’m lost, swimming in a river of blindness. I’m directionless without you, I’m headed for oblivion, but I can’t see where my fate lies. As I sit here in this bare and dusty room, with a knife for company – my sanity pleading, I draw the knife closer to my throat. 3mm from death, but it doesn’t have to be like this. No wait – you had to make it like this, but I have to live with this, if only for a few more seconds of reflection.
Just remember me, that worm-food lying in that box, six foot under, still clutching our times so good. Forever mine, forever yours will I love you.
Yours departed.
UW
I appreciate you evident enthusiasm and talent for writing, yet the story was dull. A story based on somebody whining about their loss in love, especially after it's been done so many times (even in this very competition), isn't enjoyable. Your last story at least had an air of mystery to it.
> She's supposed to be like a leech, only interested in the money. Bit
> of a vague link I agree, probably because I didn't specifically
> mention the word. Good spot.
Lol, yeah... Thought it was that... Lol...
Being a bit daft and spotting the obvious today.
One thing... I thought it had to have something to do with 'Leech'?
Cerulean is a good word. So is mazarine - which is a rich blue colour also, named after the Mazarine Bible: one of the first printed Bibles.
Stick to writing.
Although, again, let down by the ending.
For me anyway - not the words, "yours departed" was rather good - it just did nothing for me.