Reader. Writer. Romantic.

Posts tagged ‘relationships are hard’

The Colour of Her Eyes

Her phone rang.  Caller unknown.

She didn’t typically pick up calls from people she didn’t know, but something compelled her to do so tonight.  She immediately regretted it.

“Hello.”

“Minnie, it’s me.  You busy?  Wanna grab a drink tonight?  I can swing by your place and pick you up if you want?”

“Tonight…?”

“Or any night.  Look, baby, I’m sorry.  I fucked up.  There, I said it. I. Fucked. Up.  I should’ve never let you go.  I miss you so much and I want you back, baby.”

Three months ago she would’ve given anything to hear those words.  But that was three months ago.  She learned a lot about her own self worth in that time, to understand what it meant to love someone, to miss them, but to recognize that they didn’t deserve to be in her life anymore.

“Minnie, you still there?”

“Uhh, yeah.  Sorry, you were saying?”

“Do you think you can give me a second chance?  I mean, we’re only human, we all make mistakes.  You’re not perfect, but neither am I.  I made a mistake.  I’ve fessed up.  So you gotta take back, babe, that’s how this works right?”

“I-I don’t know what to say…”

“Yes, say yes.”

“Before I do, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.  Anything.”

“Tell me what colour my eyes are.”

“What?”

“What colour are my eyes?”

“If I answer this, I’ll get you back?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you give me the right answer.”

“There’s a wrong answer?”

“What do you think?  Of course, there is.”

“Uh…mmm…bl..ree…brown?”

The colour of her eyes held the warmth of saccharine liquid gold on a frigid, winter’s eve.  Their lustre rivalled that of the finest obsidian.  And the way sparkled in the sunlight, like golden sapphires made them all the more beautiful.  But the one thing that set her apart from all others was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions; they were brighter than fireworks on the fourth of July.

To call them brown was like saying the ocean was big.  It wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t right either.  There were so many ways to describe her eyes that calling them brown was a huge injustice.  To the world, they were just ordinary, but to a lover, they were poetry.

Unloved

Gone are the days of adoration
Novelty grew old
And so did I

No longer do you look at me like someone special
Like I’m the only one in the world
Anymore

I’ve become your caregiver
A constant nag
Someone who you’ve become tired of
But a man such as yourself
An adult in essence
Should know the meaning of responsibility

When I’ve been strong for so long
When I’ve done everything out of love for you
Sometimes I just need you to take the inititive

Sometimes I don’t want to be the knight in shining armour
For once,
Let me be the damsel in distress

Embittered

“I’ve had enough!” she screamed, “You never take anything serious.  Everything’s just a big joke to you, isn’t it?!”

“Maybe it’s not me.  Maybe you’re the one who needs to loosen up,” he returned nastily.

“I don’t have to take this from you!” she shouted, standing.

“Fine, leave.  Run away and go cry in a corner like you always do, you self-centered, attention-seeking bitch!” he snarled, “Nobody cares about you anyways.  No one will miss you when you’re gone.”

Her face softened temporarily as she tried to fight back the tears.

“Fine,” she said.

She stalked out the door, slamming it behind her.  As she walked down the street, she removed her engagement ring, throwing it down a storm drain.

Those were the last words he ever spoke to her.  This is was the last conversation they would ever have.

She didn’t come home last night.  Or the next morning.  He thought nothing of it at first.  She needed her space. She was probably staying with friends or family to cool down.  But as the days went on, he began to worry.

“Hey, Victoria, it’s Michael again, have you heard from Lucy-oh…ok, thanks.  Let me know if you hear anything…” he said dejectedly.

He ran over the conversation they had had before left.  Why had he said those things to her?  He was angry.  He never meant any of it.

As he sat at the kitchen table, running his hands through his hair, he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steps to the front door.  He jumped, throwing the door open.

“Mr. Michael Vincent?” asked the officer in surprise.

“Uhh…yes, I’m sorry…I thought you were someone else…” he said quietly.

“I’m afraid we might have some bad news,” said the second officer, “May we come in?”

He nodded, leading them into the living room.

“Can you identify this ring?” asked the first officer, handing Michael an evidence bag.

Michael turned the ring to look at the inside of the band, seeing the engraving, he broke down in tears.

“Do you recognize this ring, Mr. Vincent?” prompted the first officer.

“It-It’s Lucy’s…god…is…what…?” sobbed Michael.

“We’re not completely sure.  We found it on a body burned beyond any recognition,” explained the first officer, “We were hoping that we could identify her by her possessions.”

Michael was too far gone to be able to hear what the officers were saying anymore.

Lucy looked in through the window smiling.  She finally made him see the pain he had caused her.  It was a burden he’d have to bear for the rest of his life.  This had turned out better than she had expected.

 

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