The Stone Cobble Road

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of a young man who reminisces about his childhood and the thing he should have done.

Submitted: December 30, 2011

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Submitted: December 30, 2011

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And so here I am, sitting under that tree were we used sit and watch the world unfold together. Happy memories, having the time of our lives while we ignored childhood and envied adulthood, a time we both wish we could repeat but never change. I admit, that not all memories were good to me, but every time you were their I felt nothing bad ever happened either.

Remember the tree, that fine piece of oak we carved our names on with that knife in your old man's tool shed. No one but you and I know about taking the knife and even the marking the tree itself. I still can't believe you had the audacity to put a heart around our names in yet, now I feel quite happy about it but, being in my preteens I did not realize your feelings let alone mine.

Sadly, that is all in the past. A memory that will always be remember on this oak tree and in my heart.

You may not know this but my favorite memory was not the tree like you always believed. It was actually that road we walked home on. Not the main one were the bus dropped us on. The stone cobble road that you said was a mile long, but to me that road was a short walk of bliss.

That road which had two parallel rows of oak trees stretching across and over it with chipmunks and other woodland critters climbing over it. The walk would take ten minutes no more than fifteen. The stone having a calming gray around it with other colors of stone blending together to form a tranquil bridge between you and I alone.

All these memories build up inside me wishing to be expressed by ink and the very creature I sit under. But every page I write, every word I put down, every letter I think of still does not fill the void of which I think of you.

And for that I have walked down the stone cobble road one last time, I have sat under the tree for one for one final moment, and I have grabbed the blade for one last carving. Instead of putting carvings on the tree I shall put it on my own in hopes to see you once again and relive the times of our ignored childhoods.

As my eyes become heavy I remember you once again telling me soon after my mom had passed. “She is not dead till she is truly forgotten.” You always were one for theatrics and heavy quotes. Sometimes I would barley understand you, but that is why I love you. I guess down here its to late to say that but up their I can tell you with the courage of a lion that those three words are true.

With that I feel my eyes can't stay open any longer. My time is rapidly dwindling away and the sensation of cold is setting in. In yet, I feel no fear nor regrets of my last breath sitting under the oak tree thinking my last thought about you.


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