This is a true love story. Please tell us what you think should happen next. Maybe, just maybe, you’d play a part in writing the course of a love story two people in love are living!
His love story
The strings slice through the skin of his fingers but the pain throbs in his heart. His heartstrings rankle and tear, his heartbeat speeding like ‘twere trying to catch up with an object lost from sight. Sweat smothers his being and he tries again, strumming through calluses of past failed attempts, struggling to make his music float into anything, everything. His heart, much like his battered guitar, worn and scuffed from a lifetime of loving and losing his one true love, is incapable of stringing any melody than the one that continues to hauntingly float about in silence, like the echo of a memory he wishes to drown but that persistently prevails in washing over you.
He draws his fingers back and strums again, harder, faster, spilling blood drops on the fret board as if his heart was trying to pour its agony into song. She was the story in his lyrics, the love in his tunes, the whisper of his beats and everything he ever made music for. And now, she was just a memory- a memory brought to him on the wind, a memory he breathed in- so he could keep that wounded mess in his chest beating. How could he bring alive any melody- when the strings of his heart were broken beyond repair? How could he ask the wind to carry this broken tune of persistent pain to her, so it could strike a chord in her own broken heart and connect them again?
Image source: Pinterest
She was his music, his life, his happiness, his air- everything he needed to live. And without her, he was nothing. He had no voice, no life, no bliss, no peace.
All he has now is the deafening silence. The sea of chaotic silent waves that rise and crash at the shore of his heart with such maddening intensity that they shatter the flimsy make-do gates he builds in vain, to keep the pain out. They sweep the agony back in, pouring it into each heartbeat, so he feels the ache lash against his being every minute he breathes. She is the nothingness that makes everything, in their own presence, meaningless.
Suggested read: To the man who will love me next…
Perhaps, he could reach out to her. Give voice to the words he has oft repeated in his head, breathe life into the apology he has rehearsed a million times over but he doesn’t find the courage. He knows he doesn’t have a way with words and he knows well what a wrong word can do. So, instead, he waits. Waits to hear her voice again. Waits to have anything, anybody bring her words to him. Waits to hear the sound that is the only music that fills his heart and soul- the sound that is hers and hers alone.
He waits for her to call. He hopes she will. Because he knows he will always be waiting.
Her love story
Her empty laptop screen glares at her sleep-deprived eyes, swollen from endless nights of crying. She wills, against her will, to get her lifeless fingers to type something on the bugger- something, anything. And fails. The storm rages outside, as if on cue, mirroring the battle inside her. The roaring wind does nothing to drown the silence between them, the rain even less to wash away her tears and the lightning little to bring any glimmer of hope into the darkness of her heart. She tries to pull over a sun-kissed quilt to keep the nippy night’s assault off her, but the chill of his absence seeps through her skin, like a presence she can’t shed even as he stays absent. As the night grows on, she feels him crawl all the way into her heart and gnaw on the insides.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
Why was she missing him when he chose to leave? Why can’t she let go of the guy who had let go of her, bit by bit, in a million little ways, each day that she seemed to fall harder for him? Why was it so hard for her to pour her heartbreak on paper this time, finish the chapter and turn the page over? She had done it before. She could do it again. But she couldn’t. And she didn’t know why.
Maybe because he wasn’t simply a chapter in her story. He was the damn title!
She wants to write out her agony like every other emotion she’s ever breathed life into. But she’s not the same person anymore. Something inside her has snapped ever since he’s left, without so much as a word. Funny, how words that had been her life, as much as him, deceived her. Did he think she didn’t deserve even a word- a goodbye, even? It breaks her apart- his silence, the pain, the misery- and yet, in its unbearable folds, it knits in the quiet after the storm. A pause between words, as it were, meaningless- but necessary.
Suggested read: You are not meant to forget him
For the first time, she chooses to let silence speak. She chooses to drown out the words in favor of a hope that he will hear. She had made it clear he was the happiness that filled her world to the brim and spilled over- then, how come he morphed into the pain that emptied everything she had within?
She did not have answers. But she wanted them. She remembered how it ended. He’d said he didn’t think this was how it’d become. And she’d wanted to ask, then, how come it is. She hadn’t.
That was the first time words had failed her. And they’d kept failing her ever since.
She closes her eyes and allows a silent teardrop to roll away. Her phone is right beside her but she is scared she will call, to meet the silence she’s always received from him. So, she lets him sink into the silence of her soul and wishes upon a shooting star that he is happy, in the life he’s chosen.
Behind the prayer, a silent hope waits…
Featured image source: Pinterest
Facebook
Disqus
Google + 
