When she turned to the mirror, the stranger staring back at her was a blank canvas. With her left hand she lifted the clear bottle with the amber liquid in it, taking a long swig. She swallowed, allowing the burn to make it’s way south to the place she needed to numb. The thing that beat every day, but it was never alive.
She swallowed another mouthful, hoping to dull the pain. To ease the ache. But it will never come. Why? Because he’s always there. He’s ghost, the haunting memory of the man who is ingrained inside her. He is embedded in her veins. His essence runs through her blood.
She lifts the photo, staring at the stranger and then back at herself in the reflection of the woman she used to be. She watches as her heart cracks, slowly. Fissure by fissure it falls apart, tiny pieces of their relationship. Each fragment holding a memory, a smile, a giggle, a soft spoken word.
She wrote to him. She told him everything she felt. Every word an honest whisper. An accurate accusation, but as she waited, day in and day out, when nothing came she stood and walked away. Now, as she sits staring at her blank screen with salty tears streaming down her face and a large glass of white wine in her hand she wonders about the messages she never sent.
Would it make a difference? Would he come back? Would he walk away from a life he built without her? Perhaps not. There will never be closure. Her heart still beats, but it will only ever beat for him. Still, she sits. She waits. There’s nothing more sh can do, but look at that inbox that teases of an email, a message, something to tell her he’s coming back.
But it never comes. Because some messages are never sent. Some words are better left unspoken. So she smiles, closes the lid of her computer and lies in bed. Her heart with one, he’s ingrained in every inch of her soul, but she will never see him again. She’ll never feel his touch, his kiss, or hear his sincere, soft spoken words.
She’ll never hear that Scottish lilt of his tone. But she’ll always remember it. She’ll recall the way he said her name, the way he told her he loved her and they way he smiled. Only at her. His touch. His love. It was there once, but as time moved on, so did he.
So our heroine will always be here, and she’ll spin tales of her love, the one who was true. Although, even in the dark she no longer believes. She longs to forget, she aches for something new, where the pain no longer courses through her veins, but that is no option. She will forever live with the feeling of losing.
The game is over, but the pain always remains. She walked away, she travelled across the sea, but as far as she runs, there’s no leaving those feelings behind. And in the dim light of the early morning, she prays, to a God that isn’t there, that he’ll find his way back. And she prays he’ll be waiting on the corner where he first saw her.
Copyright 2017 © Dani Rene