Burned Out Love

He was a mean old man, and he knew it. Most days he blamed it on the war; no man could join the army for thirteen years and come home unscathed. But on other days he blamed his bitterness on his family. They shouldn't have deserted him.

With a sigh he thought of his beautiful wife, the woman who had made his dreams come true. She had golden hair that was usually twisted up in a bun, tendrils falling to frame her heart-shaped face. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think of her deep, emerald green eyes that sparkled in the sunlight and danced in the moonlight. He climbed into bed at night still feeling her gentle touch on his skin and her fingers weaving through his hair. Oh, how he missed her so.

Then he thought of his children, like he usually did when the memories of his wife threatened to suffocate him. He had five girls, each the picture of their mother. Most of the time they got along and the house was filled with their excited shouts and playful giggles. He missed the way they would run to him with huge smiles on their faces when he got home from a long, hard day of work. What he wouldn't do to feel their arms around him one more time.

But then the unthinkable happened. A man much better than he, with rich clothes and sophisticated smiles, swept his darling wife off her feet and took her away from him. His little girls, too. If only he could be more like the man he despised so much, then maybe he could've been good enough for his family. But he wasn't. And never would be.

So that was why his heart was of stone and his eyes dull and lifeless. That was why bitterness plagued his soul and his scowls came easier than his smiles. Because he wasn't worthy of their love, wasn't deserving of it. And yet, he longed for someone to tell him what he had done to put out the love that had once shone bright and free in his family.

Because if he knew what he had done, he would've gone back in the blink of an eye to change it.