She glanced over her shoulder once as she walked away, her steps slowing slightly. Long hair caught the sunlight as it flicked around from the movement; it caught fire - the sun ignited the strands that danced like golden flames around her beautiful face...I burned inside, the spark she'd left became flames then a wildfire of passion...But she turned away, kept walking, and was soon gone. I stood watching the space she'd left feeling the world fade around me; colour drained, light dimmed, and nothing seemed as vibrant as before, or even remotely right. She was gone. original im src
Motivation to move was absent, but eventually I turned and went inside for...What?
I didn't know what came next...Other than wanting to be with her so much it hurt; longing, desire and loneliness - It all hurt. I wandered about the house, made coffee but it sat untouched, picked up my book but after reading the same line several times put it down in disgust, or maybe despair...Or maybe I was lost in thoughts of all those details I'd memorised about her, the lack of them since the moment she'd left.
I was empty and lost; emotions I was unaccustomed to since I'd met her, but when she left...I thought how easily we had connected, how completely we had fallen into the other and how devastated I was she was gone.
The clock on the wall marked time but it passed agonisingly slowly and I cursed it; time had brought pleasure, the time I spent with her, but equally time took it away and now it passed slowly, like I was moving through air so thick that time itself slowed to a near-standstill. It moved of course, it always moves forward, but without her here with me it had little meaning.
They say the highest of flames becomes an ember and I believe it although I didn't want my fire to diminish, to burn low, but that morning the best part of me walked out when she did and I felt incomplete, aimless like smoke rising into a completely still day, going nowhere. I felt...I felt like less than I'd been with her here.
I hadn't moved for an hour, or maybe time moved so slowly many hours had passed, but somewhere through the fog I heard a voice, the voice of hope maybe, it seemed distant, unreachable and it went largely ignored. I just wanted her to be here, to feel the way I felt when she was here: Her soft hand on mine and her eyes, open and honest, on me, looking at me in that way she did. I craved the way life felt more colourful with her close to me - A kaleidoscope of every hue swirling, mingling, all touching at the edges, no shadow just light.
I'm not sure what prompted me, a memory of a moment passed, a time in which she was mine, but from somewhere in the fog came the urge to do something for her, create a special moment I knew would make her smile. As the idea sparked time itself resumed; I had direction, and purpose...Embers glowed within me, just a little more brightly.
Shadows lengthened, dark fingers reaching across the Earth. The sky stained purple then orange and red as the sun dipped lower setting the clouds afire as the day darkened around me.
The porch faced west and I sat there alone at a table set for two. Plates, cutlery, napkins, candles, glasses for water and wine, nothing fancy but I knew she would approve. Everything was where it was supposed to be, straight and orderly.
Dinner was keeping warm in the oven; simple fare. All was in readiness for the moment I'd decided to recreate. It had taken me hours, one catastrophic failure rectified by a trip to the market, then ultimate success. I was happy with how it turned out although, of course, something was missing. She was missing. I looked at the clock and...
...Right on time the front door opened, the familiar creak of hinges I'd been meaning to fix for a few weeks alerting me. Keys dropped into the bowl on the hall stand, sounds of shoes being kicked off echoed off the wooden floorboards...Footsteps, the scent of flowers and fresh air reached me...And suddenly I could breathe.
...Hours later we sat before the fire I'd stoked earlier, dinner finished and washing up left for the morning.
I sat still once more, back resting against the lounge, legs extended, with her half-curled in my lap looking up at me contentedly. I absently stroked her bare shoulder with a thumb and her hand traced lines on my chest.
"So," she said lazily, "you missed me today." It wasn't a question.
I smiled and nodded and my arms tightened around her almost imperceptivity as if she might move away, but I knew she wouldn't.
She moved a hand to her face, brushed a blonde lock that had fallen over her eyes, tucked it behind her ear - a gesture I'd always found attractive - and smiled; to me it was like throwing fuel on a fire and my body reacted.
She half sat up, placed her hand flat to my chest and the smile broadened into a grin as she said softly...
"Why don't you show me how much."
[A fiction]
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind
Discord: galenkp#9209
Does he always get this despondent when she leaves for a few hours, or goes to work?
Nice writing. You write about love very well.
Hmm, a good question indeed. I'm not sure to be honest, I'll have to do a prequel to delve into it and determine just why this chap misses his girl so much. Also, possibly a sequel from her perspective maybe? 🙂
Thanks for your nice comment. I like to write and sometimes it comes out ok. I've done fiction on various things, a miscarriage-situation between a couple was one of my favourites, but I've written about war, modern and historical and some apocalyptic stories also. I can pretty much write anything provided my understanding of the topic is sound.
I've read a number of your stories, but the ones about love seem to come from a very genuine personal place.
Firstly, thank you for reading, something so few do.
I represent the true person here on hive; sure, details are left out as I am a very private person, but I show the many facets of myself here for those who wish to read and feel between the words and lines. It is the same with my fiction of course and whilst fiction says a certain thing in my writing there is a fine, and often blurred, line.
Readers are the best reward for posting on Hive.
I'm usually astonished at the stuff I've packed in between the lines of my own writing, and often don't see my deepest meanings until long after I've hit that publish button. I love creative writing. Who knew, before I starting blogging here? Not I. But I have difficulty writing about love, unlike you.
That's an awesome revelation right? Finding out one likes to, and can, write creatively? I'm lucky to have found out many years ago - I just never shared any until hive.
Also, we all have topics we can and cannot write about I guess. For me I just pour myself into whatever I write creatively, feel something and then work out how to put that into words. It sort of comes naturally and I'm not in any fear of being judged for it, which helps.
Galen your story writing is legendary - and difficult to know what is fiction and what is not.
Thanks Eden, a nice compliment from someone who writes such beautiful lyrics herself.
Rightfully deserved captivating words
You're too kind, but kindness is a strength and a gift so I'm pleased you have it, and gifted it to me. 🙂
I'm also very honest
And I'm very humbled.
You are indeed.
I love the imagery of this fiction. I could vividly imagine the intimacy and the sultry vibe at the latter part of the story. This is something I'd love to do, and thank you for showing me.
Thanks for your nice comment and for taking the time to read my fiction. 😀
thats a good piece of write, @galenkp.Specially, the narrative style is so flowy and smooth, that it takes less time to catch the plot and the fictious story, what you like to say.
The easy writing style which makes it a story to read.
Well appreciated, 👍
Thanks for your nice comment and taking the time to read my fiction.
You are welcome and have a nice day.🎧