Dream destination

A Story by Weirdassblog

It s my first short story (5mins read), and I would love to know your thoughts about it, and would appreciate any advises to improve my writing skills.

A note:

Your first time skydiving, first time taking a punch right in your sensitive left eye, first time sliding a small ring off after putting it in your middle finger, those things can never be as hard as writing a love story.
It’s f*****g hard to write about love …

First Chapter:

(There’s only one chapter by the way, I just want to look cool)

…The bus was crowded with old people. They all had black looks on their faces, except this middle-aged man, whose face was joyful, and seemed to admire every single insignificant thing in the bus. He grabbed the curtains, smelled them exactly as if he was smelling a beautiful perfume on a lady’s neck. He seemed to be in a hurry. To get rid of his boredom, he decided to talk to the old man next to him:

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He said in a loving tone.

“How about shuttin’ your mouth young fellow?” The man answered aggressively. “What the hell are ya doin’ here, anyway?”

The man ignored the offensive tone, laughed about his weird accent, decided to open his bag and take something to read. It seemed that everyone was trying to ruin the lovely day he was having. Oh wait! He took a pen too and started writing. It was a classy fountain pen, he definitely was a big fan of writing, or maybe a well-known writer that I didn’t recognize. Now I understand why he was happier than every single person in the goddamn bus. He's a writer for goodness’ sake! Can’t writers just live the sad reality, and stop building castles in the air round-the-clock. He kept writing all the way to the final bus stop and left the bus. He nearly wrote two pages. How do I know? Just a second - did u forget that I wrote this? I know the whole nine yards! I even know every single word he wrote. I'll let you have a look at his notebook:

Hey coward, I believe you just invented me to help you talk about love…

I’m not much of a story teller. And yet, just this once, I decided to tell my story.

I promise it has nothing to do with a mother encouraging her daughter to go to a cancer support group. And I pinky-swear that I won’t be comparing infinities.

First and foremost, I want to introduce myself using the “Instagram cool way”, everybody loves it, right? Don’t you feel like you know a lot more about the person, if u read an Instagram bio like this one: 19 yo, architecture student, life is perfect, make sure you smile. Freaking social media!

So here I am: 35 yo, a doctor, married, sleep, and repeat.

Now that we know each other , you’re ready to listen to my beautiful story.

… My Zoe and I went to the same college, but I had never talked to her, or showed interest in her that time. I was somewhat of a “player”, who was able to get girls all the time, that’s why I embarked on an endless journey of dates. I was a chump, a moron, who usually finds excuses to break up…

Three years ago, I’ve reunited with some old friends, and she was there, just doing what she does the best: Being cute. I missed her, I didn’t even know why. Is it bad that I missed her more than my other precious friends? I ran to talk to her, told her that I missed her, and asked her out. She said NO, since I crept her out. Oh boy, I sounded so weird asking her: “You missed me, didn't ya? Why can’t you just admit it?” And she answered back saying: “No. Are you serious?” I could keep listening to her all day long “you’re creeping me out, words fail me!”

Don’t worry, she said yes after that, I still don’t know why frankly speaking. Let’s just say that I was lucky, the luckiest b*****d in the entire sphere.

He stopped writing for about 2 minutes, then continued with a smile, and Tears of Joy wetting his note book.

My hands are shaking, and I swear this old man next to me can hear my nerves right now. Nothing sad, this is just me thinking about my love. Can’t I just have a moment with my wife! Of course I can’t, you‘re going to make me write the whole story, aren’t you? - Absolutely! That’s what I call: an educated guess-

All right! Fine! I will vainly try to explain what my love for her did to me.

When I usually experience something pleasurable, I don’t imagine that it will end, or even that there was ever a time without it. Even if I knew it, without exception, will end - excluding my love for her. I just knew it will be there the next morning.

I’ve never known that I could love a person this much. And because of her, I was able to know how big my heart is. God! I just loved loving her, and I knew that this love will be here eternally. Simple, I’ll wake up loving her, and sleep loving her … Although at the same time, I never took her love for granted, she used to surprise me every time her lips moved saying that she loves me back.

Growing up in a town where there was no beach, and where visiting a place for water fun was pretty much a dream for me. I rarely went to the beach, but when I did, I was the happiest little guy in the world. You think I used to give a damn about building sand castles, I didn't give a damn. I was busy looking at the sea, the half-naked bodies, the lighthouse, memorizing everything because I was damn sure this moment won’t happen again, at least not this year. I suppose that’s why the beach in my mind had always something to do with happiness. And exactly like in the movie “The beach”, all I ever wanted was a hand-drawn map given by a crazy person, with directions to a beautiful beach, a beach, and maybe another beach… My dream destination has changed the day I had her in my life. I just want to be next to her, that’s my only dream destination … When she had a little me in her, she used to be scared of being a mom. And after she gave birth to my Sophie, what I say is: she was the best mother in the world. Let me add that she was a bliss, period.

Ever since she was a kid, she has always loved travelling. I loved it when she loved something, that’s probably why I started appreciating the adventure of travel - the unknown, something different, something new. She has always wanted to visit Jamaica, Mexico, and Peru … She used to change her dream destinations from time to time, after reading about a beautiful place. I have never changed mine …

We’ve already planned our first trip together, but she couldn’t wait for me. I respect her decision, she just loves travelling and knew I will be occupied for a while …

On March 22nd, she just left without telling me details. If his tears of joy continues to wet his notebook, he won’t be able to write, what am I going to do? I’ll put a goddamn tissue in his hands. He took a tissue, wiped his tears away, and continued writing: One thing I am sure of, I want to go and see her, so here I am, in this bus, happier than ever. I’ll be leaving you in the next bus-- Oh wait! I’m already there, I can’t believe I am going to see her, I can’t believe I am going to hug her and kiss her forehead…

He left the bus, trying to write something �" All of a sudden, it started raining heavily. He couldn’t write anymore, that's why he had put his notebook back in the bag; and ran over his wife who was waiting for him wearing a cute baggy white dress. He hugged her and kissed her in the forehead. I thought he wasn’t knowing whether she was there or not. It turns out the writer knew what he was doing. She seemed worried about the kids, he moved his lips and said something to let her know they were in good hands, and then continued walking …

Sophie was a lovely young girl. She was staying at her grandma’s. Writing was her thing, she had that from her father, I assume. She was such a sweetheart. Always carrying a cute little notebook, protecting it like it was her pet. On March the 14th, she had to write something for school… Of course! No need to ask! I’m an agreeable person! I’ll let you have a look at what she wrote …

Hey,

My name is Sophie, today is the mothers’ day, that’s why I decided to write something about my mommy. I won’t be handing it to the teacher, she won’t be asking anyway - but I’ll let you read what I’m writing, not because I like you or have read your Instagram bio. It’s because I believe daddy talked to you lately. So you’re my daddy’s friend, it means you’re no more a stranger to me. I’ve been living with my grandma since I was four, I’m 12 now. It has been eight and six months since my mom passed away…

Growing up without a mom is pretty hard, but I was 4 years old. Thank goodness I was little when that happened. Otherwise, I don’t know what my reaction would have been. You probably want to know what happened to my father… He was deeply in love with her, so he followed her, or traveled to see her as he told you... But? But what? The bus? Yes, that was my daddy’s imagination, a writer committing suicide, that’s what it looks like. What do you mean what? The drops of tears? The rain? That was his wrist bleeding, he just couldn’t write anymore not because of the rain, yes you got everything. I’m sad to lose both of them, and not because you’re reading this in the mother’s day, this means I only remember my mom once every year… I remember them every single day, and write daily letters for them. Their love story will die with me �" I don’t want it to be in the newspapers, or in a freaking well-known book. It’s my story, and now it’s yours too …

Sophie.