3 Replies to “9.28.2013 Journal Prompt”

  1. Have you ever loved someone so much you wanted to die? I mean really die. Loved someone so much it hurt inside, even though he said that he loved you back. Even though he said he’d marry you and be with you always. And his words were everything you wanted and yet not enough. That somewhere inside, you knew it could never be, not forever. And that’s why it hurt so much.

    That’s how much I loved Fizz. His real name was Matthew, but everyone called him Fizz. I don’t really know why. I loved him right from the start, before we were even introduced. Before the first bright kiss and making love with him in the back of his car. He was thirty-two then and I was fifteen. He said I was the most beautiful and he said he ached for me like he’d ached for no other. But that was a different kind of hurt and one that was quickly soothed.

    I was sworn to secrecy then. What we’d done, if everyone knew, well it could break him and it could break us. That’s what fifteen can be. He said we had to be patient and we had to wait, and when a year had passed we’d be together always. We met in the breathless dark till then, and we danced and kissed, and were drunk and giddy on what we had. And still it hurt, because he always had to leave and I was more alone then than I had ever been before. And so I wanted to die.

    When you are old the years get thrown so easily away and slip through the fingers like small change that rolls quickly away and into the cracks in the floorboards and is lost. It is different when you are fifteen and every day is an endless year and waiting is so hard and the time with Fizz was so short and so fleeting. He bought me books to read, and clothes that he could wrap me up in and then unwrap me from, and ribbons for my hair and rings for my fingers and every small thing that might occupy my fancy. And I kept a chart on the wall of my room and I slowly scored each day off with the sharp point of a knife, and still the hurt was as deep as it ever was.

    And when, at last, a year was ended and we could be together and always, we married at once and he said again that I was the most beautiful and we stepped out into the sunlight and I was holding his hand, and I think he was holding mine. And they were the best days of my life, and even as I was living them I understood that. And so I wanted to die then. And no one understood.

    ‘See how he looks at you. See what you mean to him. You are everything.’

    But though what they said was true, they did not know what it was to be loved like that. To be lifted to the highest high and to know, with a certainty beyond all doubt, that after that he will love you a little less than before, and each day a little less still, and one day not at all. I understood that, and so I wanted to die then, on the day we were married and the look in his eyes told me that I was his and he was mine, just then, and perfectly – and I wanted to die.

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