We Must Say Goodbye
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters below. Thanks so much for your constructive reviews! Will work harder!
Prologue.
She always felt a sense of calm as she approached the sea. The gentle carress of
the light breeze a trembling lover's touch; the soft sound of the waves as it met the sand his sweet whisper..
She walked slowly to the red letter box. Its once vibrant coat of red fading slightly to the now rusted brown. The lid creaked a little in protest as she lifted it.
Empty.
Of course.
What had she expected?
She released her held breath and reverently placed a white lily in the box.
It had become a ritual. Her coming to the house by the beach every weekend. It
brought her serenity and peace. A peace that she wouldn't find herself.
All her peace were from the letters they exchanged. Now that he had left, how
was she to find it back?
"True love is not dependent." Her friend had told her.
"Neither is it independent." she thought now, bitterly.
Absently, her fingers trailed over the marks on the letter box left by her on
the day she had rushed to deliver her last letter to him. She had railed her barren anger and desperation on it as her knees gave way and she sank sobbing uncontrollably; hoping against hope that he would receive her letter before it was too late.
Then a flash had hit her. Memories, as she saw in her mind his passing. He had
been hit by a car. Blood, pooling on the floor.
Him. Struggling to rise too weak to do so.
Him. Looking at her. Reaching for her.
Him. Closing his eyes as tears trickled down.
Him. For the last time.
And she remembered pain. All this sea of solitude and tranquility brought her
was pain.
It is better to have love and lost than not to have loved at all. He had written
that in his letter to her, when she was so heartbroken that her boyfriend had left her forcing all her to choose between him and her career.
He had taught her that meaning, gradually through all their letters exchanged
and all the things he had done for her; though she hadn't realised it then. She had been blinded by her infatuation. And had traded her chance for true love for someone she had only been infatuated with.
She realised that now.
She had only felt despondent when her boyfriend had left her. The tears she had
shed were only to lament a
what-might-have-been. It did not come the way it did when she saw his death in
her mind.
And felt it in her soul.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters below. Thanks so much for your constructive reviews! Will work harder!
Prologue.
She always felt a sense of calm as she approached the sea. The gentle carress of
the light breeze a trembling lover's touch; the soft sound of the waves as it met the sand his sweet whisper..
She walked slowly to the red letter box. Its once vibrant coat of red fading slightly to the now rusted brown. The lid creaked a little in protest as she lifted it.
Empty.
Of course.
What had she expected?
She released her held breath and reverently placed a white lily in the box.
It had become a ritual. Her coming to the house by the beach every weekend. It
brought her serenity and peace. A peace that she wouldn't find herself.
All her peace were from the letters they exchanged. Now that he had left, how
was she to find it back?
"True love is not dependent." Her friend had told her.
"Neither is it independent." she thought now, bitterly.
Absently, her fingers trailed over the marks on the letter box left by her on
the day she had rushed to deliver her last letter to him. She had railed her barren anger and desperation on it as her knees gave way and she sank sobbing uncontrollably; hoping against hope that he would receive her letter before it was too late.
Then a flash had hit her. Memories, as she saw in her mind his passing. He had
been hit by a car. Blood, pooling on the floor.
Him. Struggling to rise too weak to do so.
Him. Looking at her. Reaching for her.
Him. Closing his eyes as tears trickled down.
Him. For the last time.
And she remembered pain. All this sea of solitude and tranquility brought her
was pain.
It is better to have love and lost than not to have loved at all. He had written
that in his letter to her, when she was so heartbroken that her boyfriend had left her forcing all her to choose between him and her career.
He had taught her that meaning, gradually through all their letters exchanged
and all the things he had done for her; though she hadn't realised it then. She had been blinded by her infatuation. And had traded her chance for true love for someone she had only been infatuated with.
She realised that now.
She had only felt despondent when her boyfriend had left her. The tears she had
shed were only to lament a
what-might-have-been. It did not come the way it did when she saw his death in
her mind.
And felt it in her soul.