He had stopped talking to her for so long that he had stopped counting.
The what-ifs haunted him, as he mulled breaking the silence. At first, he wasn’t sure if he felt bad because he was guilty or if he just missed conversing with her.
Days seem to fly by faster this way, he thought.
And they did.
Days would turn to weeks. Weeks would eventually compose the months, the years, the lifetime they could have spent in each other’s embraces, chanting sweet nothings under the moonlit sky, breathing, sweating, living.
She never gave him the chance. The silence remained.
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2 Comments
Odd…
First time I read this I could have sworn it was done in first person perspective.
I wonder if he ever spoke to her out loud when going through the day.
Maybe not really minding after a while if she wasn’t there or attempting to censure himself when he happened to notice he was doing it, just communicating with the feeling that was once ‘her’ because it had become familiar to him?
M.L.
maybe because i wrote it in the first person view before modifying it a bit
yes, and yes
which is sad, because you’d end up wasting away days you could have spent together having quality time.