Flash Fiction · love · short story · Writing

I Love You; a Flash Fiction.

I know that you want those words. Those words that turn so rigid against the air. And I should’ve said them. I could’ve said them. I  would’ve said them if I didn’t wonder if they were to grow too heavy for you.

I would have said them every time you lost yourself in something and your smile dug into your cheeks and your hands busied as you leaned in with your elbows on the table.

I love you.

Every time you talked about all the places you could have been, or where you wish you were right now. When you told me of the places we could go.

I love you.

Every time I asked for your eyes and you gave me cheek bones, noses, lips, and Adam apples.

I love you.

Every eye roll. Every devil’s advocate moment when you dug into all my thoughts, even if you challenged your own.

I love you.

Every “I can’t”. Every “I’m sorry.” Every “God help me.” Every ,”God help you.” Every ,”Thank you.” Every,”What do you want for dinner tonight, honey.” Every ,”How was your day?” Every,”Of Course.” Every,”tell me.”

I love you.

Every time you could swing me around and make me giggle bubbles. Every time I heard you mumble slow music.

I love you.

Every moment we spent singing some song from lifetimes ago. You said that we could take turns and you would sing out, with your deep voice, old Sinatra songs. Every time I didn’t sing back.

I love you.

Every closed fists argument. Every time we averted eyes but found ourselves in the same bed at night with ready palms.

I love you.

And that night. That damned night when you slammed the screen door. You woke the neighbors, but they didn’t dare interrupt as you stomped down our rickety stairs. And when you made it to the drive way you paused with your hand hovering over the car door handle; you were waiting.

I love you.

When I didn’t speak, you straightened that beautiful back of yours and got into the car that I never liked.

I love you.

You drove down the street with such an eerie silence that even the neighbors peaked their heads out to see what tragedy must have occurred to call on such noiselessness. They only saw me standing with a burdened back pushed up against a door way and the screen door shutting on my shoulder.

“I love you,” I said. Then I shut the door behind me leaving those words rigid against the air.




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