I have no idea what inspired this short fiction piece from many years go, but I started out writing a love story, and it evolved into what it needed to be.
Today marks the fourth month of my pain; I was hurting before, but not like this. Today is the four-month anniversary of the day my heart broke. I remember the emotions that overwhelmed me as my heart got clawed apart. In that moment, I looked back at the experiences that got me there. The trips. The cruises. The debauchery. I was naive. Four months ago, while in excruciating pain, I watched the last thirty-five years of my life flash across the white wall of our bedroom. Thirty -five years projected in just seconds.
My heart is dead, and all that is left of it is this potent pain. It propels me to move. I hurt intensely. Today marks the fourth month of my demise. The sway of your hands left me trembling, and I was riveted by the passion dancing across your face. Flesh met flesh, and in that moment, I felt love, fear and shame. I looked up and the sway of your loving hands as it fell across my face took me back many years to our initial encounter.
It was a rainy day in the heart of the nation's capital. I was leaning on the inside of a bus-stand at the corner of K and 21st waiting for the next bus. The sky had emptied out the best part of its wrath, and I had earlier stopped, albeit reluctantly, to pick up an umbrella from a roadside vendor. I was heading home. I was engrossed in a dialogue with myself regarding my upcoming trip to Florida. I was trying to figure out what to pack when I felt the sting of a foreign object on my side. It was you standing next to me at the bus stand, and your umbrella’s spikes were poking into me. Understanding your innocence, I moved a few steps away, but your umbrella followed. Not only were its spikes poking into me, they was caught in my jacket.
"You really had to stand that close." I thought.
"Excuse me." I said.
That was how I met you. A chance meeting with your umbrella became the love relationship that slowly deprecated into hand dancing. I was captivated by the words you spoke, but they slowly became slurs.
I hurt from the words you spewed, but it was the sway of your hands that turned me in.
Today marks the fourth month anniversary of when you first hit me.