Love Story

I wrote a love story and bound it into as nice a book that has ever been. The pages were fine and the lettering even with a slight wisp of fantasy intoned in the font. The story was mine and true and seemed to be forever. And though as it sat on the table a wind would drop through and flip the pages it was always turned to a part of the tale I was most enjoying.

I was having fun and the story constantly kept up to date with additions and corrections, storyline after storyline interwoven to show a complex tale. I was happy. It was complicated and the looks of friends showed something not quite approval, but it was my adventure with all the lessons life had to offer.

And so I wrote it down and made it sing a song that only I understood as love. Though it was not a relationship, it was something more than unemotional sex. We took care and made sure to keep the other person safe from the hazards of this complicated tale of a love built on nothing other than the desire of our hearts and souls. A relationship made to fill a need.

But as the story ended the wind picked up and made a great fuss. Pages were turned in anger and confusion as a storm grew deep inside. The wind managed to tear it all to pieces and scattered the once beautiful story across the room, parts slipping out beneath the door and through the open window. Lost forever to the whim of nature.

It ended just the way we had agreed and nothing more, he's gone and so am I. No anger or regret, not hurt feelings to mend, just disappointment in what still could have been.

A love lost, hidden forever.