Write Me a Love Song

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story I've been working on. I don't want to say too much about it, I'd ratehr let you read, absorb, and tell me what you think.
I don't write many short stories, so this is my little experiment.
Susan, this ones dedicated to you. Hope y'all like =0)

Submitted: January 02, 2010

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Submitted: January 02, 2010

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A A A


We had just finished making love. Making love. That’s not what I called it, but she did, so I decided to follow suit. Who was I to say we weren’t? So I sat up on the bed, looked over my shoulder to see her still sleeping. She looked like an angel, she really did.
A quick glance at the clock radio next to the bed told me it was 03:13, far too early for me to be up, but not unusual at all. I’d been waking up at this time for weeks now. It had begun to become my peculiar norm.
I slowly stood up and reached for my guitar, placing it on my lap as I sat back down on the bed. Not that I wanted to play it, but just holding it brought me peace in the strangest way. In a way I felt guilty that I couldn’t get that same peace while holding her.
I took a drag from the cigarette I don’t quite remember ever lighting and inhaled deeply as I let my mind wonder. In that moment I could truly say the world stood still, there in the darkness. I cherished every second I had that I wasn’t bombarded by my thoughts. So maybe my insomnia wasn’t such a bad thing in moments like this, because it gave me the break I’d been begging for throughout the day. With every exhale, I’d stare into the smoke as if searching its misty essence for answers to the questions I’d never been brave enough to ask.
“Write me a love song,” startled, I swung around, snapping out of my contemplative trance, to find her looking up at me from the bed, smiling. I think I’d forgotten that there was anyone else there. Alone in my own mind, the rest of the world fell away.
I put out whatever was left of this, my third cigarette, and looked back in her direction.
“Did I wake you?” I said with a smile.
She shook her head as she crawled up behind me. With one hand on my shoulder she kissed my neck so softly it felt more like a cool breeze than anything else. Her face was dazzling, smiling ever so gently, with eyes cutting through the darkness to meet my gaze. I could feel it, the deep affection, the love that she felt for me, and I wondered if she could feel me too. Could she see what I did, that she was like a candle flame trying to warm a stone wall? She deserved the warmth of love and I hated that I just couldn’t reciprocate that.
Write me a love song…
Her words still rang in my ear, echoing off the walls of my mind. I smiled. I’m not sure why, perhaps to ease the tension I felt. With a freshly lit cigarette in hand I picked up the guitar. Taking two long drags before I put it aside in the ashtray, I held the pick, ready to strum the stings, but then…nothing. No melodic tune, or sweet words sung, just a gaping silence that seemed to personify the emotional space between us.
In that instant, I think she knew it. Kneeling behind me, she knew I wanted to write that song, to play it, to sing it to her, but she could feel that I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to, this time a part of me refused to lie.
I didn’t have to see it; I could feel her smile fade. I could feel her pulling away back into the darkness. And as much as I wanted to turn around and reach out to her, I didn’t; I couldn’t. The room was as silent as a grave, and I, the cold statue in the middle, still holding the guitar and unmoving; unsure of what to do, so I did nothing.
And that’s when I heard a sound; a sound that came from the guitar as if it were playing itself, and I was a mere spectator being puppeteered to pluck the stings and make music dance across the room and pull the corners of her mouth to leak sunshine and return her smile. But as my lips parted and words flowed with melody…
“I saw a rose
Stripped of its petals
And my eyes closed
As the dust settled”
I knew her happiness and relief wouldn’t last, because what was coming from me was not the song she would’ve wanted or expected, but rather the truth in a story my soul begged me to tell. The story of our love.
“I unravelled before you
Holding nothing
And the candle you were stood
As my empty vessel
Am I your Hero
Your protection?
Or the very vision
Of my loves absence?
The mirror
With no reflection
Unaffected by affection”

alt


© Copyright 2017 Lwazi Molepo. All rights reserved.

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