A Collection of Short Stories
The Elephant in the Room
Natasha walked around the park alone, feeling the cool crisp wind blow around her. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes wrinkled, but she no longer cared. Even if she did try to make herself look presentable, the wind would surely find a way to make her look unkempt again. Natasha pulled her coat in closer to her body as another gust of wind blew in her direction.
The very reason why she had come to the park was to forget, to let go of the things that had been holding her back for so long. She had stared at herself at the mirror earlier this morning and saw lines that were not there before; she saw sadness that had not been there nine months ago. Nine months have passed, and still, the elephant in her room would not let her go.
‘Let me go,’ she begged silently of her elephant. She had planned to come here to forget, but almost always, her plans were never pushed through. Natasha knew why she could not bring herself to move on and to let go of the past. Letting go of the past meant letting go of the memories, of the love that she had spent two years fighting for. Letting go of these memories meant letting go of a part of herself, the part she liked most. Natasha knew that these memories, no matter how lovely they seemed, were linked to pain. As long as she held on, the pain would always find a way to catch up to her.
“All the love is still there,” she whispered to herself. She needed to hear that confirmation; she needed to admit it to herself. “All the love is still there. I just don’t know what to do with it now.”
The very reason why she had come to the park was to forget, to let go of the things that had been holding her back for so long. She had stared at herself at the mirror earlier this morning and saw lines that were not there before; she saw sadness that had not been there nine months ago. Nine months have passed, and still, the elephant in her room would not let her go.
‘Let me go,’ she begged silently of her elephant. She had planned to come here to forget, but almost always, her plans were never pushed through. Natasha knew why she could not bring herself to move on and to let go of the past. Letting go of the past meant letting go of the memories, of the love that she had spent two years fighting for. Letting go of these memories meant letting go of a part of herself, the part she liked most. Natasha knew that these memories, no matter how lovely they seemed, were linked to pain. As long as she held on, the pain would always find a way to catch up to her.
“All the love is still there,” she whispered to herself. She needed to hear that confirmation; she needed to admit it to herself. “All the love is still there. I just don’t know what to do with it now.”
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photo not mine