Photo Courtesy of Instagram
It’s official; I have started writing again. To be clear, I mean that I have literally taken a pen and scratched it along parchment, as though this device I am currently using does not exist. There is something about molding my handwriting to fit the prose that thrills me more than typing away, and the masochist in me derives pleasure from crossing out a word here and there for something seemingly better. This is such a momentous occasion that after I wrote for only a short while I immediately had to craft this post. The words above are my own, from minutes ago, but I’ve provided an easier read below.
P.S. This short story is (will be) about those who wait for the end of a relationship not long after it begins, and the joy that is lost from that fear.
Oh, when they met it was that beautiful, flawless thing. There was no room for doubt amongst those looks, the most purposeful of accidental touches, and the shared minutes that sped by while the minutes spent apart seemed to abruptly halt.