Waiting Never Turns Out To Be Wanting

This is my very first short story that I wrote about 2 years ago, which is the reason why it's not very discriptive or good for that matter. However, I still believed that I needed to post it due to the fact that this is what started it all.

     My chest is full of air, I can't feel the ground beneath my own feet.  A glance down confirms.  I'm floating...but he's fine; with feet planted.  I can't move anywhere, suspended there for reasons I can't explain.  Panic sets in.  But it's all imagination.  We stand beneath a willow.  Face to face, conversation between only the crickets and our heavy heartbeats.  We both know why met here tonight, under the weeping branches of our tree.  Like an hourglass, our love has run out and our fake smiles and faulty attraction can hide the truth no longer.  I break the silence by saying the angles of your face against the chilled moonlight give me a sense of warmth.  You say nothing in return.  I can feel your silecne pull on me, a weight on my ever decreasing spirits.  The awkward moment is creeping in lke a cloud covering the starved moon.  Your voice whips the moment back into the fold of the night.  I know what you will say but it's still a surprise.  You want to end the pain; all connections.  I know he's right...he's never wrong, so I agree with him.  It must be for the best.

     He fingers the deep pocket of his coat, which grabs my attention.  I can feel his eyes on me, staring deep into my soul.  Suddenly, he pulls out a knife from his pocket and drives it into my heart.  Pain like needles peirce my every nerve ending.  Screms echo through my ears but dissolve in my mouth, not fully forming.  I thought he just wanted to end the relationship.  I was dead wrong.  I can see the pain in his eyes, all the mercy collecting in his pupils.  I know he's not a murderer, this apparently is for the best...he's never wrong.  I look to see the wound...my imagination was acting up again.  We say our goodbyes and leave thinking about what the future will bring.  Brief meetings in stores, awkward smiles in parking lots and at parties.  Maybe the chance of a steamy night after a friendly dinner ten years down the road of memories and longing.  I visit, our tree, when the pain sears that leftover wound from your knife.  Until dawn, I sit there and watch the stars, each one representing all the memories we've shared.  I look at the moon; It's light bringing out the angles in my face.

Author's Note

Reviews are fine however none that comment on the grammer or layout of the story. Yeah I know it's not wonderful...in fact it needs a lot of help. But it's an original :) and I want to leave it just the way it is. But I'd still like to know what you think about it.

Reviews

[Cal Vance]

you have beautiful writing
and your beautiful yourself