This is a short piece of fiction I wrote earlier this week. I don’t really think it’s done yet, and needs some scrubbing up, but I’m going to post it anyway, because I’m proud of it. Enjoy.
I still remember that first night. People always say they do, that it was magical and special and imprinted on their mind forever. Yet ask them about the little details that made that night so memorable, and they come up short.
I don’t. I remember all of it.
I can still smell the heavy scent of smoke hanging in the air at the bar. We’d stumbled out and into a taxi, holding each other for dear life and giggling our pants off.
There were kisses everywhere. At the bar, in front of the bar, in the taxi, in front of his house… The bitterness of his lager lingered on his tongue and he smelt like he’d smoked a full pack of Marlboro, but I didn’t give a toss because it was him and I wanted to drink him in.
We fell down on his worn and dusty sofa and made love in a haze of passion and alcohol.
Whatever happened to those two people? Why are they now living like ghosts?
Where had our love gone?
I couldn’t sleep. Another night of tears and silence had made me weary, so I paced around the house, drinking that ridiculously strong coffee he always brings.
I sat down at my desk and scribbled down page after page of incoherent thoughts, trying to make sense of what was making me feel so numb. Each angry, ink-blotted page brought me, frustratingly enough, to the exact same conclusion.
I think I’ve fallen out of love with the love of my life. That spark, that electrifying spark that kept us together was gone. We’d changed. We both loved people who didn’t exist any more.
The ticking of the clocks drove me insane.
I sat in the room, watching him sleep. My Angel Face. His dark blond hair, so messy. The hair I’d ruffled and entwined my fingers in countless times. The face I loved so much, now blotted with nasty stains of sorrow.
He looked like an otherworldly being. So still, so perfect. I willed myself to love him like I loved him before. Every fiber of my being wanted to fight.
But when first light hit, and Angel Face opened his eyes, I knew we had lost.
And he knew too.
His face was pale and silent tears trickled down his cheeks.
I walked over to him and sat down on the bed. Wiping the tears away, I whispered the only thing I could whisper.
“I’m so sorry.”
He took me in his arms and whispered back, “I know. Me too.”
We had loved each other with an unbridled passion. We had loved with hearts and minds and souls and loins.
We had loved.
And as we lay there, in the dying moments of him and me, I wished with all of my heart that we would love again someday.
Just not each other.