“… you just get better with time,
want you to write a book about us”
It was closing in on 3 am in the morning but the smile on his face could have replaced the impending sunrise. A few clicks later his word document was open and for an hour his fingers danced, waltzing memories across the keyboard, tap dancing in punctuation and a bit of free-styling emotion.
At the end of the hour, his heart beating like the rhythm of tribal drums, he inserted a full stop and reclined in his seat. Having read over what he had written, his recent emotional high seemed like a distant memory. The pages he had written were not part of a story, they were not an epic tale consisting of a myriad of memories, they were simply an enduring love letter.
It seemed as if he was under the illusion that he could never truly lose someone if he wrote about them enough. However, by inking her into eternity, he was simply making love to her with prose and in doing so, his writing in those pages showed him how much he had lost.
He took his glasses off and laid them over the keyboard, a sign of resignation. Remembering what she said, he shut his eyes and drifted away.
You never know the outcome.
I want the world to know… to know