A Wistful Morning
I'm just this guy, you know?
To expand on that, I am also the following...
- A former ficly member who is 38 years old and is schizoaffective (depressive type)
- Into creating languages and fantasy worlds from scratch
- A listener of audiobooks & good tunes
- Always too hard on myself
I looked up from my coffee. Through the steam coming off the cup, I could almost make out her face. What a cruel trick of the mind to place her across the table from me again.
Had it been days? Months? I couldn't recall.
There were things left unsaid that could never be said again. Never would the words leave my lips no matter how badly they wanted to. Would she even listen? Would she even care?
We were just kids. Stupid and willing to believe in silly things like love and happiness and forever.
Forever is a fallacy created by writers to imbue their books with happy endings. In reality, I'm not sure endings can be happy. Never any ending I knew of at least. Especially not this ending.
I brought the coffee to my lips. It was too hot to drink still. I almost sipped anyway, wanting to feel something, anything. The singe of the hot liquid in my mouth would've been something. Something to distract me from her.
I feared my puzzle would forever be missing a corner piece. Missing foundation. Missing Love.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (2 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
I feel this in what seems to be an empathetic way.
- #1905 Posted 6 years ago
- 5 out of 5
- Published 6 years ago.
- Story viewed 7 times and rated 1 times.
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Ah, regret for lost opportunity to speak of the feelings one has. I love the puzzle metaphor. And the idea of coffee being a distraction with it's heat burning him is genius, too.