The Waiting Bride

 

I haven’t spoken to you, it seems, in ages now, I remember you used to send me a letter every Tuesday morning telling me of your escapades, your journeying through the lush countryside, your meetings with new and different people and it amused me so, you were always the entertainer, the one who could drag a hermit out of his inflicted isolation, the one who could laugh his way out of the devil’s clutch.

 

We were to be wed when you returned and I planned in my head how pristine and grand our ceremony would be, I selected a dress, modest, made from the richest of whites, and I knew I would be untainted when you returned I had kept myself as such since the day you left. I began sending out engraved announcements oh, how happy the townspeople were to hear of our betrothal and the date was set for the day after you returned, and that anticipation could be matched by nothing else, except the loveliness of your letters, the retelling of your journeying through the lush countryside.

 

 

And soon I no longer got your letter every Tuesday morning, they came every fortnight now, and no longer were they about your escapades in the lush countryside but now they spoke of another city, far larger and greater than ours, and the lights you said were so amazing, the streets were paved solid, and they had horseless carriages, and I was amazed that you had seen all these things, and I thought right then you would have many stories to tell our children and grandchildren, and it amused me so.

 

 

And then the letters came monthly your valour began to dim, you didn’t write much anymore, you mostly sent your salutations and regards to my family. It didn’t bother me I could sense your loneliness I knew when you returned we would be married the next day.

 

 

I received your final letter in the season of winter; you sent your salutations and the news that you would marry a beautiful dame, the one they called Jane and it amused me so.

 

 

I haven’t spoken to you, it seems, in ages now, I remember you used to send me a letter every Tuesday morning telling me of your escapades, your journeying through the lush countryside and still I wait for the post rider wearing the dress I will be wed in the following day after your return.

 

 

Reviews

[Nykkiicia Cion]

how truly depressing! I enjoyed reading it though