Immortal
One night as she lay in bed, she found that she could no longer write about the boy that broke her heart.
She no longer had the energy to pour over old memories; the will to remember how they had watched stars together on his trampoline, how he would whisper 'I love you' in her ear, or even the year he had forgotten her birthday.
She resented the way she described her heartbreak, as though it were a natural disaster that had destroyed her whole world or a blackout that had killed all her other sources of light.
Most of all, she was sick of dedicating so many words to him. She could no longer bring herself to meticulously choose the perfect word to describe the way he had kissed her or the slight curl of his smile.
And so she sat there silently, the cursor blinking methodically against an empty page mimicking the steady beat of her heart. The beat that reminded her that she was still alive- after all the sadness and heartbreak and writing, she had survived.
He didn't deserve to be written about any longer; didn't deserve the way her writing would keep him alive, preserve his memory, make him immortal.
His name would forever be inscribed on her heart, but she would no longer write about him.
She no longer had the energy to pour over old memories; the will to remember how they had watched stars together on his trampoline, how he would whisper 'I love you' in her ear, or even the year he had forgotten her birthday.
She resented the way she described her heartbreak, as though it were a natural disaster that had destroyed her whole world or a blackout that had killed all her other sources of light.
Most of all, she was sick of dedicating so many words to him. She could no longer bring herself to meticulously choose the perfect word to describe the way he had kissed her or the slight curl of his smile.
And so she sat there silently, the cursor blinking methodically against an empty page mimicking the steady beat of her heart. The beat that reminded her that she was still alive- after all the sadness and heartbreak and writing, she had survived.
He didn't deserve to be written about any longer; didn't deserve the way her writing would keep him alive, preserve his memory, make him immortal.
His name would forever be inscribed on her heart, but she would no longer write about him.