Dear Reader,
It was in the way you looked at me. You always had such pretty eyes. They were emeralds of the purest green, and they sparkled when you smiled. The biggest smile always covered your face, and your laugh haunts everyroom. I loved that laugh.
In the bedroom where we slept, the pillows are cold as ice. I haven't laid there, or anywhere, since that night. You always used to hold me when I felt like this, but it's hard now to even hold myself up. The words that flooded from your mouth were songs to my ears, always knowing how to make all of the shadows seems so far from here. But, they can't hide anymore.
The door is ajar. The crystal doorknob cracked into tiny pieces, still shattered on the floor. I don't know why, but I know that if I picked them up, I wouldn't wince, for the pain could never match this. I was never great with words, always fumbling over them. Of course, you always told me that my nervousness was sweet, and that you found them endearing.
"You always get so nervous," You used to say. "It makes me feel important," you laughed with me.
The dark oak floor is damp with tears and shrouded with shadows. I sit here, and I hold myself. Against the floorboards, I rock with pain, but my eyes are filled with the dry sorrow of confusion and betrayal. Across the room, a tall, grand father clock beckons in the silence. How could it already be so late? The nights are long with floods of memories and torrents of hope.
I remember when we bought that clock. I find it funny now, you made me take you to that tiny antique store. You made me giggle at the ancient knick-knacks, and you grasped my hand tightly. Then, as we were ready to walk out the door, you turned us violently around, and you gawked at the clock. I thought you were joking when you said we should buy it, but your eyes sang a serious note. And, I feigned protest at first, but those emerlad eyes could always make me second guess. Now looking at it, I still can't see what you saw in it. It's old and the time it tells is off by a few minutes, but you thought it was pretty. I couldn't argue with that.
On the bedroom dresser is the note you wrote me. It feels like just a few hours ago, I read it with shining, hopeful eyes. But, now I'm left to rust. I could picture you writing it, with those gorgeous eyes. In my mind, they're not so green anymore. The emerald looks dull and cracked. Eroded from an ache that your smile couldn't hide anymore. But, you didn't tell me until it was too late.
As the night grows chilly, I wrap myself in the blanket hanging from a light brown chair. However, the warmth it brings hides a deep cut of chilling memories. It was the blanket from the first night we lived here. You wanted to watch some movie, I could never remember. I held you with a sense of urgency and necessity, like I was meant to hold you. And then you started to cry, and I wrapped you tightly in the red striped blanket. The stains of your tears still soak the blanket, a scar that could never be washed out. As I hold the blanket, I ask to let it warm me,to let the cold memories of the past shower me with warmth of a tinged remembrance.
The frigid memories feel so bleak now, I feel like I might forget you. The emerald eyes, now jaded and cracked of scorned fights and miscommunication. Where are you? Why was this happening so fast? The clock ticks so slowly, yet the chimes sound louder than your manic laughter.
My mouth tightly opens as if to let out a sound. I want to scream for my mistakes, and yell for a forgiveness I know I will never recieve. I want to beg for your return, and I want to scream for whatever it's worth, three words that reverberate through my mind in an innocently sorrowful spiral.
(I miss you.)
The shadows start to clear, but now I see you there. No, I wasn't ready for this.
I never wanted it to happen like this.
There you are. So pretty, so helpless. The hole in your head is almost as big as the one in my chest. The emerald eyes so small and cracked, like a shattered glass vase. With pieces I can pick up, but they hurt me each time I do.
I miss the way they used to shine when you smiled at me. And, I miss the way your laughter echoed through a room. I miss it all, but most importantly, I miss you.
Sincerely,
An empty shell
It was in the way you looked at me. You always had such pretty eyes. They were emeralds of the purest green, and they sparkled when you smiled. The biggest smile always covered your face, and your laugh haunts everyroom. I loved that laugh.
In the bedroom where we slept, the pillows are cold as ice. I haven't laid there, or anywhere, since that night. You always used to hold me when I felt like this, but it's hard now to even hold myself up. The words that flooded from your mouth were songs to my ears, always knowing how to make all of the shadows seems so far from here. But, they can't hide anymore.
The door is ajar. The crystal doorknob cracked into tiny pieces, still shattered on the floor. I don't know why, but I know that if I picked them up, I wouldn't wince, for the pain could never match this. I was never great with words, always fumbling over them. Of course, you always told me that my nervousness was sweet, and that you found them endearing.
"You always get so nervous," You used to say. "It makes me feel important," you laughed with me.
The dark oak floor is damp with tears and shrouded with shadows. I sit here, and I hold myself. Against the floorboards, I rock with pain, but my eyes are filled with the dry sorrow of confusion and betrayal. Across the room, a tall, grand father clock beckons in the silence. How could it already be so late? The nights are long with floods of memories and torrents of hope.
I remember when we bought that clock. I find it funny now, you made me take you to that tiny antique store. You made me giggle at the ancient knick-knacks, and you grasped my hand tightly. Then, as we were ready to walk out the door, you turned us violently around, and you gawked at the clock. I thought you were joking when you said we should buy it, but your eyes sang a serious note. And, I feigned protest at first, but those emerlad eyes could always make me second guess. Now looking at it, I still can't see what you saw in it. It's old and the time it tells is off by a few minutes, but you thought it was pretty. I couldn't argue with that.
On the bedroom dresser is the note you wrote me. It feels like just a few hours ago, I read it with shining, hopeful eyes. But, now I'm left to rust. I could picture you writing it, with those gorgeous eyes. In my mind, they're not so green anymore. The emerald looks dull and cracked. Eroded from an ache that your smile couldn't hide anymore. But, you didn't tell me until it was too late.
As the night grows chilly, I wrap myself in the blanket hanging from a light brown chair. However, the warmth it brings hides a deep cut of chilling memories. It was the blanket from the first night we lived here. You wanted to watch some movie, I could never remember. I held you with a sense of urgency and necessity, like I was meant to hold you. And then you started to cry, and I wrapped you tightly in the red striped blanket. The stains of your tears still soak the blanket, a scar that could never be washed out. As I hold the blanket, I ask to let it warm me,to let the cold memories of the past shower me with warmth of a tinged remembrance.
The frigid memories feel so bleak now, I feel like I might forget you. The emerald eyes, now jaded and cracked of scorned fights and miscommunication. Where are you? Why was this happening so fast? The clock ticks so slowly, yet the chimes sound louder than your manic laughter.
My mouth tightly opens as if to let out a sound. I want to scream for my mistakes, and yell for a forgiveness I know I will never recieve. I want to beg for your return, and I want to scream for whatever it's worth, three words that reverberate through my mind in an innocently sorrowful spiral.
(I miss you.)
The shadows start to clear, but now I see you there. No, I wasn't ready for this.
I never wanted it to happen like this.
There you are. So pretty, so helpless. The hole in your head is almost as big as the one in my chest. The emerald eyes so small and cracked, like a shattered glass vase. With pieces I can pick up, but they hurt me each time I do.
I miss the way they used to shine when you smiled at me. And, I miss the way your laughter echoed through a room. I miss it all, but most importantly, I miss you.
Sincerely,
An empty shell