Dalliance

Dalliance (Inspired by Meaning by Gavin DeGraw)

The ending of our dalliance
gave my life a deeper meaning.
This throbbing, beating ache
confirms pain is part of living.

10.25.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to November Notes Writing Challenge by my love Sarah Doughty of Heartstring Eulogies and yours truly.❤

november-notes-4

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Used to be Mine: A Song-based Fiction

Stranger. That is what I am.

Sitting people all in black and white, I am estranged to everyone, except one person. She is the only human who knows me here. But she can never say who I am.

She’s imperfect but she tries.

She is good but she lies.

Silence. Murmurs. Quiet sobs. The humans that surround me is as still, as her, as me.

I am somehow a gatecrasher to a wake I was not invited to. But I am here, for her, for a woman who used to be mine.

She is hard on herself.

She is broken and won’t ask for help.

Her mom has spoken, in between loud wails.

Her husband has said a short heartless sentence.

Her little lass, who looked just liked her, sang a song.

Her best friend has stood and hold the microphone, but wasn’t able to utter any word.

She is messy but she’s kind.

She is lonely most of the time.

Now it’s my turn.

“Anyone who want to offer words for…”

I stood, just before the sentence was finished. Everyone looked at me.

I gripped the small piece of paper I’ve been holding for hours. It contains the eulogy I have written…for the only girl that I loved. For the girl who was once mine.

She is all of this mixed up.

And baked in a beautiful pie.

She is gone but she used to be mine.

12.04.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Based on She Used to be Mine by Sara Bareilles. Bold and italicized parts are from lyrics of the song.

Forever’s Ending

Today’s the first day of my last day with you. I’m a bit confuse, though, because my heart’s melancholic yet it’s full of joy.

Six decades, six decades and four years to be exact. That’s how long we have been together.

A lot asked how we remained committed for so long, how we kept the fire burning. We have no answer, we just look at each others’ eyes, and smile. Nothing’s too long, and no there’s no fire. It’s simple. Marriage is a choice you made everyday.

Perfect marriage isn’t true. Like any couple, we fight, cursed and almost fell apart. You cheated, twice. It took me too long to forgive, in fact, I almost packed my bags. But we choose to make amends. Why? Because it’s worth it.

No rough roads can equal our simple pleasures. It’s more than sex. It’s more than kisses. It’s your soft whispers every morning that gave me chills until we’re both seniors.

You never say good morning. Instead, you whisper Emily Dickinson’s words to my ears: “Forever is composed of nows.” It has been our marriage’s mantra. It has been the glue that kept us together.

It’s those three single life moments when I saw you cry.

First time’s when I was walking  down the aisle towards you. Second time’s when you first held our eldest. Third time’s during our final morning together. You definitely know you’re dying, because you cried after you whispered “Forever…”

Your skin have aged with years, but your eyes and your smile remained the same. Still expressive, still endearing. That’s why I cried when I saw you inside the casket. Your eyes can never melt me again. Your smile can never warm my heart again.

“Dear,” I said in between sobs, as I look to you for the final time.

My old heart’s aching. The lump in my throat’s unbearable. But I can’t help but be grateful. 64 years, 64 long years, what more can I ask for?

“Good night, dear,” I finally said.

“I’ll wait until you can finally whisper forever again.”

11.06.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 04 Assignment.

Seasons: Epilogue

First three parts were published last Tuesday, Wednesday and yesterday.

Warm wind’s blowing. Loud silence’s piercing. With blank mind and an about-to-burst heart, I remained still as I look at your grave.

Our story ended, more than five years ago. On that fateful autumn day, when I waited for you. But you never waited for me.

I admit I am in denial, for five years. I never visited that bench, I never stepped my feet on that park, not until… I almost died.

And you came to fetch me, or my soul, or whatever I am during that moment.

I almost said yes.

Yes, I want to die right then and there with you. I want to be with you. I want to feel your lips again. I want to badly feel your love again.

With broken ribs, fractured arm, and almost cracked skull, who would know I will not die? It’s a miracle, some said. But for me, my miracle happened six months after I was back to life.

It happened when I cannot move. It happened when I can’t even eat. It happened when I can’t even do anything. It happened when I realized that this is how it feels to die. It happened when I realized that I want to live again even without you.

Live as in live, not live like a breathing zombie that I was for so many years.

I still miss you, my love. I still want to be with you. But I guess… it’s now time… for me… to breathe again.

12.12.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
This is part of my first-ever flash fiction series. This is the ‘not-planned’ fourth and last (promise) part of my short fiction series “Seasons”. This epilogue is also inspired by ‘Breathe Again’, a song by Sara Bareilles. You can listen to it here.

Seasons: Finale

First two parts were published last Tuesday and yesterday.

“This can’t be,” my mind whispered. But my heart and my senses knew, this is him.

When I finally looked into his dark brown eyes, words ran out of me. Anger and sadness left me. I am numb.

He stared back and looked through my eyes as his hand trace my arms and reach for my hand.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, softly. I am too weak to resist so I let him lead me.

Memories came rushing as we walk hand in hand towards the ancient wooden bench that we call, ours. This place is far too familiar to forget. It smells sweet during summer, fresh during spring, chilly during winter. Now, the atmosphere is filled with earth scents.

We sit silently, unmoving.

I stare away from his face but my body is wide awake as his finger trace the ghost of our engagement ring.

More shivers run through me as I felt his face moves closer to my ears.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered repeatedly. His hoarse voice cracked as he softly say how much he missed me.

I slowly pushed him away. I faced him, eye to eye, with all my being. I am not sure if I am a soul now or what, but I bared my whole self to him as I look straight to his teary-eyes.

“Breathe. Please, breathe,” I reminded myself as the flood of emotions flowed through me. Anger. Sadness. Longing. Unbelief. Love. Yes, love is still there.

I am now looking again at the man I loved and still love so much. I am now looking at the man I imagined waiting for me at the altar. I am now looking at the man I dreamed of having children with. I am now looking at the man I have mourned for five years.

I am now looking at the man I badly wanted to be alive, again.

“Come with me,” he said as he wiped my tears.

“How?” I asked in between my quiet sobs.

He moves closer to me. “Just say yes.”

I looked at his eyes and let the windows of my soul express the words my tongue cannot utter.

Our stares are charged with strong love, anguish, sadness, confusion. Our eyes are like weapons that unveil the emotional turmoil happening inside us.

Just as the longing became unbearable, his soft lips finally met mine.

We are both cold but our locked-lips sent warm current through our whole being. His lips felt familiar and intoxicating. His lips reminded me of what I have been missing. His lips, oh, his lips.

My eyes remained close. I want to feel him and him only, until a strong electric jolt shocked me.

I resisted the strong energy trying to suck me away from him.

I tried… I tried…. I tried….

But I cannot resist the black-hole-like force that swallowed me.

My heart beats fast.

My body shakes.

My breath rushes back.

“Her heartbeat returned. She’s back, she’s back,” someone whispered softly but with urgency.

My eyes struggle to open up against the blinding lights of the operating room.

I am alive, again.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series.

Seasons: Part 2

First part was published yesterday.

Chilling shivers crawled in my veins when I saw my bloody-self inside my wrecked car.

“So what am I now? Am I a soul now? Am I dead? Am I alive?” I shouted but no voice left me.

The ambulance arrived. Several medical staffs tried to retrieve my blood-soaked body. The unfolding scene is nauseating but I urged myself to think straight.

I collected myself and prepared to run to get inside the ambulance.

But I stopped as I felt a warm yet slightly cold hand touch my arms.

I am unsure if my heart is still alive but it surely beat fast once my skin recognized this hand.

This hand belongs to the man I was supposed to marry five years ago.

This hand belongs to the man I cried and yelled at when he was not able to see me on that fateful day of October.

I waited on our corner but he did not come because he died.

But this hand… is definitely….

“No, no, no, no.” “This is couldn’t be. This couldn’t be.”

But my senses say otherwise.

This is how his touch feels like.

And this is how he makes me feel.

I slowly turned around.

And urged myself to look up.

My heart stopped.

Because the hand resting is my arm is indeed… his.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series. ❤

Seasons: Part 1

My soul still searches for you.

For five long years, I was able to avoid this street. I was able to forget this area. I wanted to avoid you. I wanted to avoid us until my car stopped.

It ceased to move, for reasons I don’t know. I guess it brought me here, to the corner we call our own.

Winter, spring, summer and fall, this bench was ours.

It was a cold December night when you found me in this corner. I said my name, you said yours.

It was a blooming April morning when you asked me to be yours. Of course, I said yes.

It was a hot yet so bright July afternoon when you gave me that ring. I said I love you and you said you do, too.

I waited for you on that fateful day of October. I can vividly smell the earth scents and feel the sky winds as I saw you walk towards me.

I thought it was you. But it wasn’t you.

I thought you will come for me. But instead, I went to see you. I waited for you on our corner. But you didn’t wait for me. It’s humid autumn, but you laid still, chillingly frozen.

“Enough,” I said to myself.

I went back to my car because I cannot stand to be in this corner anymore.

I ran, then stopped abruptly when I saw my bloody-self inside my crushed car.

09.10.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 13 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction. ❤

Endings

I have to see her before the day ends.

I have to do it before the sun sets.

I am shaking inside as I slowly twisted the smooth metal door knob.

The smell of disinfectant welcomed me. My wrinkled skin quickly felt the cold and sterile atmosphere of the room.

I can hear nothing but the continuous ‘beep’ of the machine that I cannot really look at, yet.

I gaze around and took my time in perusing the benign prints painted with uplifting colors. No matter how many minutes I look at them, they remain ineffective.

I stared down at the almost-white and completely dustless floor.

My heart is racing. I don’t know if I am ready to take a few more step.

Inhale. Exhale. Deeply. Again.

As I went near, the smell changed. I know I am now near you because the sweet vanilla scent is now within my nose’s reach.

Oh, you smelled that way since I first saw you, 50 years ago.

I stopped at the edge of your bed.

Your mattress looks comfortable. But I know you still prefer to lay on the bed that we shared until that fateful day when your sick brain nerves snatched you from me.

I finally seat on the stainless stool beside you without looking up, yet.

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

I slowly raise by heavy head and finally see your face. You are not as young as before but your look will always be the loveliest in my eyes.

Age has never worn out your beauty, but those tubes somehow distracts me.

I stare at your face as my old hand search for yours.

I hold your always soft but now cold hand. I squeezed it with all my remaining strength wishing that your eyes will open when you feel my warmth.

I looked at you for a second, a minute, an hour. You never moved. You remained still.

I knew that the fiery red sun is now slowly sinking beneath the horizon as the orange and red streaks of light illuminate your lovely but emotionless face.

I kissed your hand and whispered ‘I love you’, for one last time.

I reached for the machine’s button.

The beeps stopped. The sun sets. My hope ends.

09.24.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 14 Assignment.