Deep thoughts · Flash Fiction · Hopeless Romantic · love · short story · Writing

Dear Love…; A Flash Fiction

She slammed the door to their apartment with purse in hand. She pulled on the car door. It did not open, and so she pulled the handle the couple more times before looking for the keys. They weren’t in her purse. She looked back at the apartment. She could see her keys sitting on the little table through the window.

She looked at the house and then the apartment again. “Fuck it,” she said and started walking to the park three blocks down. She stomped across the sand under the swings and into a bench. The sun was well on it’s way to setting. The sky looks so pink that it reminds her of the way she would draw hearts to personify me. She pulls out a notebook as pink as the sunset and starts writing in it.

Dear Love,

I am through with you. I can’t do this anymore. It just hurts too bad. To love is just too much. I just…I just keep trying but…I’m just no good at it.Now everything just hurts when I do anything. I don’t feel beautiful when I look in the mirror anymore. I used too, but now all I see is spots and lines and and dark circles.

I miss how it felt in the beginning. You’re like those bad drugs my uncle died from. It’s always great in beginning. I also think this time will be better. It’ll last and I’ll see him grow wrinkles and children with me.

But they never do.

So I think it is time we part ways, love. I think I have had enough. I’m really sorry it had to end this way. But I can’t go on like this. We just weren’t meant for each other. I guess I should say that it was me and not you, but I don’t know if that is true. I wish you the best.”

With those words drying on the paper, she put her notebook in her bag and started walking back to her apartment with grim lines on either side of her eyes. Her notebook fell out onto the sidewalk. She did not notice.

I could not help it. I could not let someone go on in this world with such a delusional outlook of life and how beautiful it could be. I just had to tell her. She couldn’t go out in life like that. No one could survive that. So I picked up the notebook turned to a empty page and started writing.

Dear you,

I heard that you were done with me. You said that I caused too much pain. I think I would like to deny this. To put my palm to chest and pull my head  back in disgust. I can’t. You see, I guess in a way it was me.

You mistake what I am though. If you thought that I was not supposed to hurt, well, that would be in the warning if we had one. You think pain is the worst thing that can happen to you. You forget that it reminds us of out humanness. That means that it is okay to be imperfect.

Darling, it was your first mistake in thinking that I was merely an emotion. I am so much more. I am verb, a noun, and even a feeling. I am  your baby nephew, your mother, and your sister. I am cooking dinner, covering the blanket over your feet, and interlaced fingers as you pulled their body closer to yours.  I am that heart wrenching sadness and crashing. I am that relief and that happy. I am too much for you to hate me. My dear,  I am everything that makes life worth it.  I will work tirelessly to help you see that. 

My dear, I know you are tired and I know you probably know my sting all to well. But believe me when I tell you, you just need to find your color. You see, finding love-true love- is like mixing colors. Some people purple love or pink love or even brown love. You have a color you know. You just need to find the right person who makes that color with you, and when you find them, it will feel like you have never loved anyone else before. Like previous love was just art lessons for this magnificent color. 

And by the way, I think you are very beautiful. I always have, whether you think you are is another story.

With that I put the notebook face down with the page I wrote on open on the front step of her apartment and softly rapped on her door. She answered it with running black tears.

“Hello? John?” she said as she stepped out of the door frame. She stepped on her notebook I left for her. “Oh,” she said as she picked it up and started reading what I left her before she stepped back into the warmth of her home. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked in the cold winter night.









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