Long Walk

The walk home was long and winding.   The cool midnight air made the pain seem bitterer than it actually was. The feeling was still raw in my chest.  Only rain could have made the moment any more poetic.  Ruining my one pair of good shoes walking all the way to your house; after we hung up the phone there was nothing else I could do. I needed to hear it for myself. I needed to see you and have you say it to my face. Not just abruptly on a telephone line: Your voice so familiar and yet distant as a stranger. I needed to actually hear it in my ear like all the midnights that you whispered my name or how much you loved me. I needed you to proclaim it wasn’t true the same way you declared it. The walk home from your house was long and winding.  I don’t know if I took the long way round on purpose or if I was just that much out of my head at that point.  Maybe I didn’t take the long way. Maybe it just felt like the long way, like every minute feels like an hour since that night. 

                So maybe it was all my fault. Or maybe it’s like you said and it’s really nobody’s fault. We grew apart.  They give you something that I just can’t. Is it that I’m not giving it to you or am I not capable of providing it? Did you always know that you needed it? What was so wrong with us that you were open to receiving whatever they were giving? A thousand questions raced through my head. A million things I thought of to say to you, at that moment. Frustrated that I hadn’t thought of them before your phone call, or on the walk to your house, not the walk back. But then again it wouldn’t have done me any good. You didn’t answer the door. You wouldn’t answer the door. Maybe you couldn’t answer the door… maybe the sight of me, having walked the twenty-eight blocks in the middle of the night, could have swayed you back to my side… maybe not.

                Maybe you just didn’t answer. Or maybe you weren’t alone. Doesn’t matter now. Whatever the reason you didn’t open the door. I walked all the way to your house. Wanting the stinging satisfaction of you breaking my heart face-to-face, ironic huh? How I wanted the lips that kissed me to kill me. How the mouth that once loved me, now took that all away. I’m sorry if this is getting harder to read, it’s harder to write. That walk home gave me lots of time to think - Promise me it was not all for naught. Can you? I guess not. Remember sometimes. I lay with your name on my lips and the picture of your smile in my minds eye.  Just wish your hand was here to hold me, but I lost out on having that.  Know that if there was anything that I could have done to fix this, I would have. But apparently it was beyond repair. You couldn’t even open the door.

 

Reviews

[NerdintheHouse]

I like how descriptive it was at the beginning.

[Star]

Ok not really my thing. But still ok.

[Alyssa Carlstrom]

Well done, there was most certainly a strong sense of drama. Keep up the good work.

[Kat Williams]

Nice...slightly lost toward the very end. Wasn't sure what the person was asking for in remember sometimes. Promise what? To never answer the door? To write back? To come back?

Other than that this piece flowed very well, u are excellent at setting a scene and mood...