Challenge of the (yester) day: write a one page narrative without using the pronoun “I” once.
Something happened to me, someone came into my life. And she left almost as fast.
It was August, early. A Wednesday, it was late - late enough to technically be a Thursday morning. Very late, 4AM if memory serves me right; which it always has and will until death.
A thought came over me, present company spawned this idea. She was a blessing in persona. An angel, an angel in my car who was kissing me at 4 in the morning.
Feelings can be put into words, but not properly. The translation from emotion to my diction would fail theatrically. But for her it’s worth a shot: she is as perfect as iced water, blessed as stretching out on a cold tile floor in the middle summer, and as pleasurable as her legs are smooth. She gave me the confidence that only a woman holding my hand can offer. She made me want to do things like dance, and sing, and laugh.
Those things were all done for two weeks straight. Two weeks of fun and a monumental crush. Two weeks of heaven, wonderful times, late nights, and contentment.
Then, out of the blue, she split. She left. Dropped off the face of my world. Didn’t talk to me. Didn’t want me it seemed. She ignored me. She made it clear that this thing we had going was more important to me than it was to her
Hands haven’t been held, songs haven’t been sung, lips haven’t been kissed. Words haven’t been exchanged, faces haven’t been seen, laughs haven’t been shared. And my mind is ramblin’, racin’, jumpin’, hopin’, prayin’, and wanting her to desire to be in my hand, on my lips, and in my lonely life.
And as much time that has been spent thinking of her - twice daily since we met - and how much she caused me to hurt; there is nothing possessable or tangible to show for it. Not a thing, save for my throat stuffed with my heart.