In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Once Upon a Time.”
This story dates way back before last week.
But it’s recent.
Once upon a time, I fell in love.
Even if I didn’t believe in it. But I did.
And it was glorious while it lasted.
Not that it is gone. Just on a little holiday.
I fell in love. I love him.
We met. We clicked. We bonded.
He was my missing Lego™ block.
He completed me.
Oh my. Oh dear.
What did happen?
I live in society that can’t be pleased.
And a lot of people near and far wrinkled their noses at me and said
“It can’t be done. Of all people, why him?”
I didn’t give a damn, so I went ahead and loved him. We were both misunderstood, so we sought comfort in ourselves.
However shortlived it has been.
And then they came.
And they seized my heart by its veins and yanked it right out of its little cavity.
“You cannot love him. You don’t need this if you intend on loving him!”
They took my heart away. Then I told him.
And he tried.
He still tries.
But I’ve changed.
I’m tired of this dead feeling inside, like I’m just waiting for something good to happen.
Then they came back. With clean hands and said
“Don’t worry dear, you will find love soon.”
I still love him, you see.
And he knows.
He tries to keep up with my rapid changes.
The mood swings.
The sleepless nights.
The flat, dead voice.
The blank stares.
The lack of irony.
Maybe we need to be away from each other in order to be together.
That makes sense, right?
Maybe it’s better this way?
But I worry. And he worries Too.
Young as I am. Life is so cruel.