- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing»
- Creative Writing
It was four o'clock in the morning and the whisper of the breeze that was unknown to me, reverberated in my ears, woke me from a dream that has suddenly slid me back to my subconscious. I got up to endure another day of longing. Before I left the house, those chimes hanging by the door tinkled again
I reached the bus station before the dawn broke. I hurriedly got into the bus and sat next by the window. The bus stopped to wait for more passengers so sneaked for a nap.
Sunlight touched my face. I slept for an hour and found stretching my arms the best thing to do. I pushed the curtain back and saw a small chime hanging on the rod. It was like the chimes at my door. And as the chilling winds came rushing by the window, the small chime continued to make enchanting melodies which effortlessly captivated my soul.
It's been a year. The wind played with the chimes on my door as she departed; leaving me waiting for the day when somewhere, somehow, we would meet again.
And as it had been with everyone, nothing would remain but memories how she touched my lips, how we used to share lunch under that acacia tree which foliage grew the fruits called "forever".
"You may be happy when someone has done you something special. But isn't it amazing that though that special someone has not done anything for you, you still feel happy?" I could not forget those words you told me. (The bus stopped. I arrived to meet her again.)
I saw her, in the very dress that she wore on our first date, her smile frozen for eternity. I simply left her the bouquet of flowers I held and quickly walked away; truly understood the true meaning of those words that you used to tell me. Yes, you were right, it was amazing.
A year ago, Kaye died of leukemia. And before she left me, she gave those chimes which I hanged by the door of my house.
© 2016 Longmire