Reminiscence.

the past is the escape.

Eyes closed, steady breathing.
The process is so familiar it’s converted to a reflex. Life becomes difficult and I escape; time travel back to moments of contentment. I hate the process, knowing you have ceased to exist, yet do so anyway to cherish each instant you were mine.

It’s as clear as the diamond resting on her finger. The potent fragrance of Lynx swallowing you whole. The smell of cigarettes caught between the tips of your index finger and thumb. The smoke under your breath, it reeks. But I welcome it… because they’re your smell. It’s been excessively long, but the vividness remains.
Your warmth encircles me, mouth open, and embraces my lips. I can feel you smiling, parting yours. Your tongue overtakes mine; overturns me. Overflows me - my body is flooded with your passion. With my passion. You exhale into me and I inhale you. Then, vice versa. Over the years, our bodies have adapted to one another, like your brain to your body.

My vision resurfaces. I survey my surroundings and take in the environment, but I see not the girls giggling at road’s end. Nor do I see the young boys’ football game over the field. I am not aware of the setting sun, signifying the end of summer.
The end… I notice that though. I notice the end… and that I am broken. Not broken, but cracked… in half, and ready to shatter to confetti. The confetti later used at his wedding. Yes, that confetti. But he would be too lost in her dollar-signed eyes to notice the pain-drenched confetti landing lightly on his shoulders.

I draw in the air sharply and close my eyes, like the breath you take after resurfacing from a long swim, before diving right back under. Underwater, into my conscience. I searched frantically through my twenty years of memory for the right one. There. My feet altered rapidly, in smoothness, racing towards the memory.
But something stopped me in my tracks. His presence. I frantically searched three-hundred and sixty, until I noticed the water distort into an image of his face; the waves sculpt the toned muscles on his biceps and his form became apparent before my eyes. The water disappeared until all there remained was him and me. 
He came back. I rushed into his arms, embracing his lovely face.
And right then, he shattered.
And I was left holding bits of my shattered dreams. Alone, again.

Author's Note

this is a bit longer, and different to my normal writings, but the words and emotions behind it just kept flowing - so don't be discouraged that it's long, do read it and send a little comment :)

Reviews

[Matt Shriver]

Wow. That's pretty much all I have is.. wow. This was so good. It just flowed perfectly. I loved how you kept converting topics and they just met perfectly. This was one of the best reads I've discovered on here so far. So much emotion. It's very raw. Very descriptive as well. You can see everything so vividly. Like you were standing with her. You could almost feel her pain. I also loved the way you used confetti. It was so perfect. This was epic. I'm am so glad I read it. This is for sure going into my library to be read again and shared with my friends. Great job. I can't wait to see what you have in store for us next. Keep it up!!

[SimpleGentleman]

This is amazing. The details were able to paint images into my head and gave me goosebumps as I kept reading. Keep it up!

[Everett DeValle]

Wonderful write...full of lovely expressions that I can relate too.

[SM Davis]

Your ability to conjur images is great. I liked the imagery of the cigarettes and the putrid smell it conjurs followed by the fact that it is something the character came to love because of the love they held for the smoker. Very nice.

[*skittlez*]

wow!!!! thats pretty much i have is wow this is so good i really really like it try not to make so many sentences like run ons

[Joshua Hennen]

I wonder what this would look like as a poem. I don't know that I've ever done that with any of my prose, but it may be worth a try. Certain metaphors and work pictures in this work (confetti, watery conscience) would suit a poem nicely. It seems that slicing away many of the sinewy words that serve as the connective tissue of prose may just expose the most vital parts in all of their glory. But even if left as prose, this has the makings of an excellent and original piece of art and it doesn't surprise me that the emotions "kept flowing." I think that you were inspired by your Muse and just had to get the thoughts out while they were there. With some compressing of thoughts, i.e. saying more with less, this will be a powerful and haunting work. So far, this is the only work of yours that I have read and am impressed.

[Twilight]

This is probably one of the better stories, which I have read over recent days. The writer has created a vivid and convincing impression, of a series of passionate memories from her past. Short sentences are used to good effect, with no wasted words or irrelevant lines. The setting is contemporary, I think? Interestingly, the writer refers to this pattern of memories as a "process", implying that she can control it (presumably at will?). A good effort, and worth adding to, perhaps? Thankyou, for adding it to my writing group! Keep writing!

[A. Fischer]

I didn't think it was long at all. I enjoyed this piece... as I could picture all unfolding as if it were taking place right before my very eyes. Well done!

[DesertRose]

One word...beautiful