Love Me, Love Me Not
AN: The purpose of this piece is to get out of my writers funk I've been in lately, and to attempt to write something in past tense. I'm still unsure about this one.
Fall is a time of dying, his mother had always said. She'd cup her hands around a brown or yellow leaf, one that was fluttering to the ground, and hold it in her hands before crunching it between her palms and letting the wind take it to its next destination.
He was lying on the a strip of sidewalk with leaves fluttering around his face. Above him, the world was a plethora of oranges and yellows, reds and browns. It was a rainbow of death, he thought, watching the trees sway with the wind.
He picked up a leaf with a dozen little edges poking out. He pulled one off and watched it tumble to the ground. She loves me, he thought. He pulled another one off, she loves me not.
She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me.
His fingers briefly hesitated on the last piece of leaf, holding it between his fingers as he licked his lips. He took a deep breath, pulled it off, and watched it dance towards the ground.
"She loves me not," he said aloud. He dropped the remained of the dying leaf and stood up. He dusted the dirt from his jacket off and shoved his hands in his pocket.
He stood there for a minute and watched the trees sway in the wind and the world die around him. He took a deep breath and whispered the words running through his brain, only if to make them real.
"She loves me not."
He took one last look at the trees, stepped off the sidewalk, and didn't look back.
fin.