Home > Literature > And on the Twelfth Night (my edited piece in short)

And on the Twelfth Night (my edited piece in short)

The door closed on a Tuesday. No pre-emptive moves had been made to see that he would stay, save for asking. There had been no sign of it and every sign of it from the beginning. Their relationship had started at ground zero and ended in the same manner.

She knew she would make love to him the second their eyes met in passing for the first time. It had been like an explosion of acknowledgement in her brain that there “HE” was, that one man you always dreamed you’d meet. It had been in the entryway of the catacombs where she did her etchings and he his photography. It was if it had been pre-destined that they should meet again in this lifetime, as if they had already known each other somehow before they had even met. She couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t explain it. They were drawn to each other by something more powerful than the rules they were told to live by and those rules would add the complications and the turmoil that were to be the undoing of them. So harbored the signs of ending in the same moment it had not even began.

One year went and came with casual aquaintancy and on the last day of that year, he approached her and asked to buy her lunch. All along she  had felt that she was merely fooling herself to think of him in such ways when after all, he was out of her league, married, older and would be treated as any other. Her heart jumped to her throat in the quiet answer of “yes”. His palms were sweating when he asked her. His heart had raced harder when her answer had surprised him. He had only taken the chance that she had been interested. He was reminded of the movie “Chances Are”. So, they met for lunch, with full intentions on lunch being had and yet, they never made it to their meal. For all it took was one simple thank you and a slight lean forward and he was telling her that he wanted to kiss her. She never backed away. She couldn’t. The fire was rising within her.

One kiss turned into a hundred which engulfed them in the strength of its hold, smoldering. There was no turning back. Their minds connected on the same level. They knew the response of the other before each new touch as if they had known it before.

Life can sometimes be uncanny in how something as simple as lunch can turn into a complex and complicated journey.

For two years they would talk and write to each other, spend secret hours hidden away from the world and lost in one another’s embrace.

She loved him as with both a sickness and the cure. He loved her with an unexplainable fervor he had not felt in two decades. He had not thought it possible to find the passion and depth of emotion he reached with her, yet, with her had found it.
She didn’t claim to be much of anything, though she gave all of who she was. He was lifted to a higher state in her eyes. He was conflicted with the heavenly torture of loving her and not being able to share with the world that she belonged to him. He wondered how it could be that he should find her and yet not be at a place in his life to truly have her. He regreted loving her and couldn’t resist loving her at the same time. He couldn’t stop. She was a part of him. He was a part of her and she felt she was  certainly nothing compared to the light that passed through her, from her lover’s affection.

The two years of hiding from the world began to wear on the mentality of their bonds. As their passion grew with time, the longing to end his marriage came to them both. The reality of their situation plagued their minds daily, eating away at the delicious moments of pleasure. The more they consumed each other, the more it consumed them.

And on no particular Tuesday, he left through the door of their hidden home. Nothing more to be said than they already knew to say.

He loved her. She loved him. Their love was to be the death of one realtionship to breed the life of the new, or it was to be the death itself of them.
Over time, her voice, to him, had become wearing as a forgotten song of a broken record, repeating its play, beckoning him to stay longer each time.
She dared to hold on to web-like wisps of dreamy days, something they once shared, breathed in heavy kisses and deep embraces, entangled with hope.
The words once delighted the ears of his soul who touched her. Now, they formed to fall with brick-like speed in dead air before him.
And his touch, once groping for the flame, became more cold and civil, afraid to burn in the fire of her.
All the many days that shined and all the many nights that sparkled, how they had passed so without care to her of the eventuality of the end, and now, in ignoring its approach it had come all too soon.

She learned without him, the nothingness filled the empty halls of her heart. Those halls that held faint echoes of a joy she held close, too close, for too short a time. The echoes became drowned in present passings of all else that took place over all else.
The face on the old clock was cracked, in its casing, an askew view of the exact moment in time she became nothing more to him than a memory.

The cragged caverns of her mourning were littered with wragged and torn pages, scattered leaves of letters written and never returned, tossed and blown away.
What kindling glow of his passion was left? Was it forever to wane, frigid? She struggled to reach him, her breath heavy with tears she couldn’t let fall. All her attempts were called in vain, for each try proved solely  a movement for herself and not striven to be met by him.
One year and six months marked the calendar. She fell to her knees and gave way to the wrenching cries within her heart. For eleven days she ate nothing, save for sparce attempts at toast and tea, went nowhere and spoke barely a word, her misery her only consolation. And on the twelfth night,…

She arose from her sorrow, to move into the other empty rooms of the house. She stayed seated in the bay window staring at the moon and stars. Her heart beat low and slowly. She fell asleep with his words in her mind and his picture fell from her hand to the cushion at her side. She let go.

In what seemed like only a moment having passed, she opened her tired eyes, still red from the nights of no sleep and many tears shed. She went to the back of the house and opened the doors to the outside world and walked out, realizing the night had turned to day. A mixed feeling of the numbness inside and the peace of the bright day before her moved her to continue her way into the grass.

Her bare feet loved the sensation of the waxy and cool blades of green beneath her. She turned her face upward to the sky and watched the wind push the gray clouds across the bluest sky.  A whispered prayer of thanks left her lips. It was a sense of gratefulness that she could still find beauty even in her state of heart.

In walking, she made her way into the trees, just to the banks of the lake, then stopped. The ripples of the water reflected the sun. She dropped her gown to her ankles and stepped out. She waded out in her nakedness, feeling the level rising to her breasts.

Her eyes closed and she let go of her stance in the wet earth between her toes. The water went over her head filling her ears first and then enveloping her eyelids and forehead until her whole body was in liquid movement. Her arms and legs propelled her deeper into the cold, darker areas.

Turning to look up at the light shining through the water above her, she swam up and out into the sun again. She wiped the water from her face, feeling refreshed from nature’s baptismal effect.

Making her way back to the tree-line, she gathered up her gown and returned to the house, the cotton material clinging to the wetness of her frame. She walked through the open doors and the vision that met her gaze stopped her steps.

In the corner of the room in the bay window, lay her body curled against the glass, face up to the sky and his picture within her curved,  open palm on the cushion next to her.

“Why are you so far away, she said. Oh, won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you.”- The Cure-” Just Like Heaven

Categories: Literature Tags: , , , ,
  1. August 16, 2010 at 2:22 am

    Oh my… I loved this! The ending is haunting and sad and beautiful. I didn’t expect that! Great story! Love it!

    Hello Sweets! So great to hear from you! Happy Peace day to you as well!
    I would most definitely love to read more of your writing! I’ll go have a look!
    I really wanted to see the meteor shower, but went to bed and forgot and missed it. It’s too bad. I was really looking forward to it! lol

    It’s peaceful here too, tonight… very quiet. I hope you have a lovely sleep! Thanks for dropping in to say hello!

  2. August 27, 2010 at 7:48 pm

    I sent this to my friend in San Fransico, Ca. He told me that it needed alot of work adn really didn’t work and that the adjectives bored the reader. He says I need to change it to poetry and not a prose. Well,looking back how do you see it, objectively?

  3. August 28, 2010 at 4:17 pm

    Um…I wasn’t bored. lol I did enjoy it.

    I guess it might work as poetry, but I’d rather read a story…

    When I read poetry I tend to have to force myself to read it all… lol


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