They say that at the moment of death, your whole life passes before you. I never had a life of my own to lose. My life, my whole existence, was yours.
It was in the stationery store where our story began. I felt you approach and was immediately attracted to you, as you were to me.
“Yes, you’ll do, nicely,” you said. As slick a pick-up line as ever there was. Straight away you took me home with you, before excitedly undressing me in the bedroom. Poetry, you lavished on me as you ran your hand over my skin, caressing me with your fingertips, endowing me with your words of love.
“My dearest, sweet darling,” you said. “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.” It was too much for me to bear, but bear it I did, as I laid my soul before you, willing you to continue to the point of rapture.
“I would rather spend one lifetime with you,” so you continued “..than face all the ages of this world alone.” And you demonstrated, too, that this was so. The sweet, soulful lines went on.
“I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.” Yes, you were the architect of my love. As you gifted these words to me, it did fill me up, as a cup runneth over.
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” So your love deepened to the point of darkness? Or was it madness? Your words were, without doubt, intoxicating, beguiling, bewitching.
“I have waited for this opportunity for so long, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.” So long? It hardly seemed a moment and yet it was an age.
These were the last words you bestowed as you walked out on me and into the arms of another. Or so you told me as you left.
“He said he would meet me by the old clock at the station,” you said excitedly from the other side of the room. No more sweet caress of fingertips. No more fine poetry. The moving finger writes and, having writ, moves on.
Move on you did, leaving me alone. Abandoning me to myself. Having laid down Pen to remain my only companion, you ventured out into the evening.
Even when you returned, you swept me aside, casting item upon item over me. Letters, bank statements, magazines, a sweater, some underwear, all grew in a crushing pile on top of me, pressing me down into the varnished wooden surface of the dresser. Dark and lonely, I was.
For an age, I remained at the bottom of the heap as your life continued with a series of comings and goings. Days, nights, weeks, months went by without a word from you.
So late, it was, when you returned one night in no mood for love.
“Bastard!” You cursed. “You two-timing bastard. How could you?” you ranted “And with her! That filthy slut.”
And so you raged against the unnamed object of your obloquy until you took a swipe at the pile of debris on your dresser, sweeping me to the floor with it.
No poetry now. No fine words and finer feelings. I hoped beyond hope that you would not pick up Pen now. Would not soil my surface with your venom.
Now you see me, as if for the first time. Silence, as you retrieve me from the carpet. Gripping with strong hands that have lost the gentleness I knew of old, seeking only revenge. You tear page from page and rip each leaf to sorry shreds.
No! Have mercy! Do not destroy the love within these leaves. The words within my pages are true feelings. They are no sham. They are real and alive. No! Not the fire! The flames, the flames! My tormentor, my executioner. Pity’s sake, rescue me and these words of love before the fire consumes all and turns us to black dust.
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“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.” ~ Pablo Neruda
“I would rather spend one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” ~ J. R. R. Tolkien
“I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.” ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” ~ Pablo Neruda
“I have waited for this opportunity for so long, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.” ~ From: "I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love." ― Gabriel Garcia Marquez
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.” ― Omar Khayyám
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About the Creator
Author based in Kent, England. A writer of fictional short stories in a wide range of genres, he has been a non-fiction writer since the 1980s. Non-fiction subjects include art, history, technology, business, law, and the human condition.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!