One More Time

Flash fiction

I’ve heard it said “we become sad in the first place because we have nothing stirring to do.” I believe this was said by Herman Melville. I also believe this to be true, as it seems that is when I think about it all. Where you are, what would have been, if you are thinking the same thing at the same moment.

How is one expected to move forward when there are reminders everywhere? How is one to move on when the reminders push their way through the very moment you stop to breathe?

It’s at those moments…those moments when I stop to breathe that I find myself going out of my way to look at your picture and open the wound again. I sometimes wonder if a part of me likes feeling that pain. If this isn’t true, then why would I go out of my way to look one more time? Each time is always “one more time.”

Not stopping. Not stopping for one moment is the only way to stop hurting myself. The only way to keep from asking where you are, what would have been, if you are thinking the same thing at the same moment.

It was during that last “one more time” when I saw what could have been. When I saw you standing there with a smile I had never seen before. At least never with me. It was during that last time when I decided I wasn’t going to allow myself to feel the hurt anymore. I finally realized…finally saw for myself that you were no longer feeling it, feeling the pain I seem to inflict on myself. That is, if you were ever feeling it in the first place.
So for now, I will keep myself from stopping to breathe.