I Don't Love You Anymore

This is my first 'first person' story that I've written. If I could get feedback or something, that would be great. Thank you.

“I’m sorry. I don’t love you, anymore.”

***

I open my eyes to the sun beaming on my face. Morning time already. I dreamed about her. Today makes three years since she’s left, after all. Has it really been that long? I sit up in bed and put my hand to my forehead. I knew I shouldn’t have drank so much last night. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing for today. I rub my neck, sore from the position of sleeping. I have a splitting headache and my body is sore all over. My head feels so heavy and I can barely open my eyes to let light in. I let out a sigh and rub the sleepiness from my eyes. I pick up my phone and begin to look at old pictures of her and I. I can’t let her go. I slowly roll out of bed to get dressed. As I was, my phone started to ring.

“Hey, what’s up… I’m fine, thanks… Sorry, not today. I got things to do… I know. But I loved her… Thanks… We’ll get together some other time… Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

I can’t stop thinking about her, even as I drive. My mind was flooding with thoughts about her and our past together. I want to get those thoughts out of my mind. I want to forget. But I can’t, no matter how hard I try. She’s gone. She’s gone and I can’t change that. I park in front of the coffee shop, let out a sigh and think about one of the numerous times we came here...

***

.

“I love coffee in the morning!” She shook with excitement in the front seat.

“Calm down, calm down,” I said as I patted her head. “You sure you need coffee? You’re already amped up as is.

“It’s the best way to start the day. Coffee and a breakfast sandwich from this place sure hits the spot.”

We got out of the car and walked through the coffee shop door. She turned to me and reached for my hand as we walked through the doors. I grabbed her hand and held it tightly, never wanting to let go.

“Do you know what you want?” I asked as we waited in line.

“Of course. I always get the same thing.”

“I know. I just thought you’d want to switch things up a bit.”

“I’m a creature of habit, dear.” She kissed me on my cheek, making me smile.

“I can help you guys here!” the barista called out to us.

“Hello!” she exclaimed. “Can I please get a sweetened iced coffee-

***

.

"-with soy milk, please. Oh, and an egg croissant. Thanks,” I say.

“Sure thing, sir. Coming right up,” the barista replies.

I hand the money to the barista and I proceed to find a place to sit. I close my eyes. Her favorite drink, our favorite place, the place we first met.

***

.

“Excuse me, miss. I think you dropped your pen.” I handed her the pen that fell on the floor.

“Oh, thank you, so much. You don’t know how much this pen means to me.”

Her eyes met mine and I was already in love. Those deep brown eyes that made me feel like I could stare into them forever. Her voice sounded like a sweet serenade that I could put on repeat. She gently took the pen with both her hands. Her hands are so soft, so cold.

“Well, if you have the time, I’d like to hear what makes this pen so special.”

“...Really? Well, it was a gift from my father. He gave it to me before he passed away. I like to write stories and all that. He saw how much I love to do it, so he bought me this fountain pen and told me, ‘Just remember, this pen might run out of ink, but it can always be filled up. And just like that pen, sometimes, your inspiration and ideas might run out. But there’s always a place where you can get new inspiration’.” 

“That’s inspiring. I’m sorry about your father. I actually like to write, too! If you’re not in a rush, want to exchange some ideas and brainstorm?”

“That sounds great!” she exclaimed. “I don't need to be anywhere, so let’s find a table!”

The way that she spoke with such reverence for her dad, and also the way that she got so excited about writing was the nail in the coffin. I knew that once we sat down on that table, I wouldn’t be able to simply forget about her. Not someone this perfect.

***

And because of that day, I’m feeling like this today.

“I’ve got your order ready, sir!” I thank the barista, take the coffee and croissant, and get into my car. I sigh again and look at my notebook I brought on the passenger seat. I know where I have to go next.

I park my car at the neighborhood park and get out, notebook and pen in hand. I take a deep breath and close my eyes…

***

“This park is lovely!” She grabbed my hand and tried to pull me towards the grass.

“Hold on, honey. I have to grab the blanket.” I popped the trunk and grabbed the blanket.

“This is so fun, I’ve never had an old fashioned picnic in a park before! Sitting on the grass on a blanket, eating food, laughing and having fun!” She was really excited about it. She held my arm as she hopped and tapped her feet in place. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing how happy she was. Her jubilant attitude was almost contagious, as I couldn’t help but get even more excited as well..

“I’m glad you’re looking forward to this!” I exclaimed. “Where do you want to set up?

“What about under the shade of that tree?” She pointed at the spot. The air was slightly breezy, strong enough that it felt cool but soft enough where everything wasn’t flying everywhere. It was under a shady tree that could block the sun just to the point where you might be able to comfortably fall asleep. 

“Yeah, that works. I wouldn’t mind the shade!”

She turned to me and smiled. “I love you, Peter.” 

I love you too.

***

I open my eyes and look at the tree that we sat under. I walk to the tree and sit in the shade underneath it, leaning against it for comfort. I think back to the numerous times we used to come to this park. How we’d have a picnic every now and then. Or how we’d both would just sit on the grass and write stories and poems, proof reading each other’s work. I wish we could do that again. I open my notebook and begin to write. I’m hoping that writing a poem would bring me solace.

I wish I could still hold you in my arms

To feel your warm embrace within my grasp.

Oh, how I do miss your frivolous charm.

But, sadly, the time we have shared has passed.

You can’t comprehend how much that I yearn

For your touch as I sit under this tree.

My love is like a fire that forever burns.

I’m dying to have you here, now, with me.

It’s been three years since you’ve gone from my life.

Although, it feels like an eternity.

I know we had our problems and strife.

But I still do want you back, fervently. 

I know things won’t change if I stay morose

But I just wish that I could hold you close.

I get up and head to my car when I hear the jingle of an ice cream truck. It passes by the the park and turns the corner, disappearing from sight. Ice cream actually sounds good right now. I chuckle to myself and get into my car, heading to the ice cream shop she introduced me to.

***

We approached the old ice cream parlor. It was a family owned business, small and cozy, located in a small shopping plaza. It was a hole in the wall shop, overlooked by everything else in the area.   

“Here! Park here!” She pointed at an open parking stall. “Okay, we’re here!”

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” I asked.

“I used to go to this ice cream parlor all the time as a kid, and I still do come here every so often. All the ice cream that they sell is homemade, so you can almost taste the love!” We walked through the door, holding hands, her leading the way. The interior was small and didn’t really seem extravagant. It felt like someone’s home, complete with a couch. There were a lot of toys for sale, appealing to the children of families that might come in. “I have this favorite flavor that you have to try. I think this place is the only place that makes them this good.

“Okay, you’ve got my interest. What is it?”

“Well, it’s blue vanilla with marshmallows in it. It’s so good!” Her face lit up as she was talking about it. I was captivated by her beauty, following the tone of her voice as she raved about her favorite flavor. We stood at the register, ready to order.

“Ah, Amy. It’s always good to see you,” the owner/cashier said. She must’ve come to this place a lot for the owner to recognize her on the spot.

“Hi!” she greeted him with excitement. “I thought I’d bring my boyfriend here to try the best ice cream in the North Shore!”

“It’s nice to meet you, young man.” The owner reached out to shake my hand. I took his hand and gave him a firm handshake. He was a man that looked about in his mid 50’s, old enough to be an ‘Uncle’ to us.

“Likewise. I’m Peter.”

“You can call me Uncle Joel,” the owner said. The place felt less like a business and more

like a community, a family. I didn’t feel like I was in a shop. Rather, it felt like a family member’s home, with how friendly that Uncle Joel was.”

“Now, what can I get for the lovely couple?” asked Uncle Joel.

“Hold on, baby,” I said. “I’m kind of a messy eater. Can I get a cup, instead?”

“Nonsense!” she said. That’s the fun part about eating ice cream out of cones! Please? For me?” She looked at me with puppy dog eyes. I couldn’t take how adorable she was.

“Alright, alright,” I said with a smile, giving in to her charm. “You win. But you’ll have to clean me up if I get messy.”

“Deal!” She turned to Uncle Joel. “Can I get two cones of B-”

***

“lue Moon, please?”

“You got it, man.” The cashier scoops the ice cream into a waffle cone and hands it to me. It wasn’t Uncle Joel, it was one of the other employees that started while we were still together. “Hey, kid.” The cashier looks at me with concerned eyes. “Are you okay? I remember you used to come in with Amy before.”

“I’m fine,” I reply with a soft smile. “Thank you for asking. I’m...actually planning on seeing her today.” The cashier nods. “Thank you for the ice cream! Say hi to Uncle Joel for me!”

“Anytime, kid. Anytime.”

I sit down on an empty table outside the ice cream shop. I notice a couple eating ice cream together on one of the benches. They’re lucky. That was us. Hold on to each other while you still can. I finish my ice cream and get into my car. One more stop before I see her. I pull out of the parking stall and drive off. Shortly after, I arrived at a hidden beach, where we would go. I get out of my car and walk towards the ocean. I sit down on the sand and watch as the waves come up the shore, then return into the ocean. I close my eyes and listen to the crashing waves. This is where she said those words to me…

***

“Walks on the beach are nice. Especially at this time of day.” I held her hand tightly as we walked down the beach, watching the sunset.

“Yeah,” she softly replied. The way that she said that word was filled with melancholy. She didn’t have her usual joy and excitement.

“Something is up.” I looked at her. “You’ve been gloomy all day, today. What’s wrong?”

“I... don’t know.” She turned away from me.

“Hey, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, emotionless.

“Look, I’m your boyfriend. I never like to see you down. If there’s anything I can do to make you smile, I would do it in a heart-”

“There’s someone else,” she abruptly said.

“What?” I slowly let go of her hand. “What do you mean?”

“There’s someone else,” she repeated.

“Hold on, I don’t get it. Who?” I spun in confusion. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

“I met this guy and we started talking. And...now...the truth is…” She hesitated.

“The truth is?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t love you, anymore.”

***

I open my eyes because my phone is ringing.

“Yo… I’m fine, same as this morning you called… No, not yet. I was just about to head over to see her now… Yeah, I’ll see you there, then. I’m just going to buy flowers first… Okay, bye.” I stand up and take one last look at the beach. It isn’t sunset, but I don’t need it to be sunset to vividly remember what happened that day. I walk towards my car and sigh. I’m coming to see you.

I park my car in the parking lot. I see Jack, the guy who’s been calling me today, already waiting for me by the entrance. He’s one of my best friends. He’s comforted me at my lowest, and supported me at my highest. I get out of my car with flowers and my poem.

“Hey, man,” Jack says. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” We give each other a friendly hug.

“What’s that?” He points to the piece of paper.

“It’s a poem that I wrote for her.” We both walk up the walkway.

“Go on, buddy,” he says to me. I clear my throat and make my approach.

“Hi, Amy,” I say. “I never could forget about you. I went to some of our favorite spots today. I thought about you today.” I start choking up. I take a deep breath and continue. “I wrote this poem for you.” I get down on my knees and read the poem. After I read the poem, I put the flowers and the poem on her headstone. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you, darling.” My eyes start to well up with tears. “I wasn’t ready to lose you. But I'm so glad I had the chance to be with you.”

“Hey,” Jack says as he pats my shoulder. “It’s okay to let it out. Just remember that she loved you. She just didn’t want to hurt you. I just wish I told you about it sooner.” 

“Thank you for telling me at all. If you didn't tell me, I would've never found out.” I can’t hold back the tears. My friend comforts me as I sit on the grass, crying…

***

“Hey, Jack. What’s up?... Oh, I’m coping. I mean, it happened a couple months ago. I’m starting to get my life together again… What is it?... Hold on, what do you mean?... Why? Why would she lie to me... That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! I have to see her. Which hospital is she at?... Thanks. I’ll see you there. Bye.” I hung up the phone and rushed to get dressed. Why would she do this? Doesn’t she know that I love her? I got into my car and drove off.

“Hey, man,” I said to Jack.

“Hey,” Jack said. “Come on, I’ll show you where she is.” I followed him as we walked to her room. “I couldn’t bear to see you beat yourself up like this. All because she didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So she tried to make me hate her so that I wouldn’t care if she…” We arrived at the room. Jack stood at the doorway.

“Go ahead. I’ll come in after you,” Jack said. I walked in slowly and saw her on the hospital bed.

“Amy?” I softly said.

“Peter,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Jack told me. It’s not his fault.”

“Listen, Pete. I can expl-”

“Was this your plan?” I asked. “To not tell me that you have cancer? Instead, you tell me that you are seeing someone else. Were you too afraid to tell me?”

“Come here.” She beckoned me to her bedside. She held my face. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. I thought that if I could make you mad enough, you wouldn’t have been so heartbroken losing me like this. I thought you would’ve been okay with losing me like this if I made you stop loving me.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “That was wrong of me to do that.” She caressed my cheek. “Of course I still love you. I did what I did because I love you.”

“I love you too,” I replied. “I would have been heartbroken either way. And that was the worst idea ever. I wouldn’t have stopped loving you.” I held her hands. “I’m so sorry I left you on the beach that day.” Tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” she comforted me. “I figured you’d do that. So I told my mom beforehand.”

“Sorry,” her mom said, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t want her to do it, but she was set on it. I tried to talk her out of it.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not your fault.” I turned back to Amy. “I love you, Amy. And I will always love you.”

“I love you too, Peter. I'm so sorry.” she said, crying more.

***

“Hey, so what do you want to do now?” Jack asks.

“Well we could visit her family,” I suggested.

“And then?” 

“I don’t know,” I reply. “We could go for a drink.”

“I thought you might say that. Same place? By your house?”

“Yeah, that place. She wouldn’t want us to feel all sad and down for the whole rest of the day, anyways. Right?” I look up at the sky. I love you, Amy. I’ll always remember you.

Author's Note

How does this story flow? If you guys could give me feedback on how to improve it, that would be awesome.

Reviews

[Space]

Real love hurts and so as reminiscing the person you love and leave you. It was a really tough thing to write something about heartbreak because some heartbreak really leads you to depression.
I love the way how you write this and your choices of words. The reminiscing part made some parts—making us readers understand more.

[Space]

Real love hurts and so as reminiscing the person you love and leave you. It was a really tough thing to write something about heartbreak because some heartbreak really leads you to depression.
I love the way how you write this and your choices of words. The reminiscing part made some parts—making us readers understand more.

[JayG]

It's late, so I'm skipping to the bottom line:

You're guessing, and that's not the way to learn any skill. And in this case, the writing skills we're given in school don't work for fiction, no matter the personal pronouns you use. So trying to make them work for you won't work. In school they're readying us for employment, not to be a professional fiction-writer. So...they don't teach us what a scene is, how to open or close them, or even that the approach to fiction is not even close to that of the nonfiction skills they give us.

So, when we try to write fiction with the nonfiction skills we were given, and practiced by writing so many reports, it will read like a report, as it must.

How much time did your teachers spend on dialog tag structure and usage, or the nuance of viewpoint. None, right? How about the structure of a scene? Again none. They don't even tell us that a scene n the page is different from one on film. How can we write a scene if we don't know what it is?

And the most important thing they failed to tell you is summed up by E. L. Doctorow: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” And nothing you learned about writing will do that. It takes the skills of the fiction writer. And the techniques of the profession we call, Fiction-Writing, are are acquired IN ADDITION to the basic skills we're given in school.

In other words, to write fiction you need to learn how. And it's not a matter memorizing of a list of, "Do this instead of that." points. It's a profession. And mastering any profession takes time study, and lots of practice. But...if you are meant to write the learning will be fun. And the practice is writing stories.

My suggestion is to dig around in the writing articles in my Word-Press writing blog. They're meant to give a kind of overview. And if, after that you still want to go on, the local library's fiction-writing section is a huge resource.

To help, the best book on fiction-writing I've found, Dwight Swain's, techniques of the Selling Writer, is available free from the site I link to below. Grab a copy before they change their minds.
https://ru.b-ok2.org/book/2640776/e749ea

Hang in there, and keep on writing.
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Jay Greenstein