Knowing your favourite song,
After hearing it every day.
Wondering who made you smile,
While keeping the jealousy at bay.
The hardest thing is loving you endlessly,
No matter the nights and days spent trying to forget.
We’re made for each other,
Cause you, my dearest, are perfect for me.
Fragile and true,
Beating with grace, yet breaks with ease.
Holding memories of love and pain,
As a symbol of vulnerability.
Yet beauty and fragility go hand in hand,
To love ourselves even when we’re broken.
So embrace the heart of glass,
With all of its cracks, flaws and scars.
Four years. Four wasted years working by her side and unable to tell her how he feels. He tried to say to her once after working a case that involved them going undercover as a couple, but he ended up swallowing the words he desperately wanted to say when he saw her head out of the precinct on another man’s arm.
“You should make your male main character tell the female main character how he feels,” one of his closest writer friends said. “It’s obvious he has strong feelings for her. So what if she’s with someone else? From what you’ve told me about the story, her relationships never last for more than a month.” He didn’t respond as he pondered over his friend’s words. “Besides,” his friend piped up again, jolting him from his thoughts. “The hero always gets the girl, right?”
He mulled over the conversation he had with his writer friend when he was called in to consult on another homicide. A famous actress had been killed and dumped in a back alley, her belongings were missing, and there’s evidence of her being sexually assaulted. He tried to focus on the case and not on his pent-up feelings about his beautiful detective, but every time he looked at her, he could envision their future together as husband and wife. Obviously, they would still solve crimes together, and maybe there would be a few little ones to take care of while out being the city’s best crime-solving duo.
Then, one day, when they were attending the funeral of an officer killed in the line of duty, he suddenly found himself in the middle of an assassination attempt. A hidden sniper opened fire and a bullet hit her near her heart. As she fell backwards, he caught her just before she touched the grass. “Stay with me!” He cried. “Please stay with me!” She looked up at him with fear in her eyes, silently begging him not to let her go. He held her close to him as he frantically tried to stop the bleeding. “I love you,” he whispered, finally saying the words he had been waiting so long to say. “I love you, Katerina. I need you to stay with me.”
A song. I can’t believe that he wrote a love song about me. On the back of a receipt, no less! Doesn’t he know that I have moved on? Why is he trying to confuse me? Must confront!
“Hey, Jes,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Could I talk to you for a minute?” Jes nodded as he got up from the couch, and we entered the bar’s storage room. Once inside, I closed the door and took the receipt from my jeans pocket.
“What is this?” I asked, waving the receipt in his face. “You wrote a love song about me?” Jes looked flustered as he tried to come up with a response. “It’s not a love song!” He said. “Even if it is, it’s not about you, so I don’t know what you’re freaking out about.” I let out a huff as I glared at him. “It says ‘Love Song (Kathrine)’ on it,” I said. “How can it not be about me?!” Jes sighed. “Fine!” He said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s about you, so what?” I gasped at how he was brushing this off like it was nothing.
“So what?!” I exclaimed. “You wrote a fucking love song about me and didn’t tell me?! You had to hide it in a book that ended up in the Lost and Found box?!” Jes exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. “After things imploded between us, I still had some leftover feelings for you. So I decided to write it down.” I scoffed. “Leftover feelings?” I repeated. “What am I, some steamed dumplings you wanted to save for a rainy day?” Jes rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Steamed dumplings don’t keep for very long!” I glared at him again, and he said, “Who the fuck cares? Why are you yelling at me for something I wrote months ago?” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Cause you are a fucking coward!” I said. “You should’ve told me about your feelings, not writing it on some random receipt!” Jes then stared at me in disbelief.
“You are such a hypocrite,” he said. “You’ve had feelings for me, too, okay? I felt it a million times this year! I felt it on Valentine’s Day or just recently when you tried to sabotage my relationship!” I opened my mouth to retort but realized that Jes was right. “Okay, fine,” I said. “Maybe I also have leftover feelings for you, but I had a good reason for not saying anything!” Jes crossed his arms at that. “Oh, really? Do tell.” I paused momentarily and then said, “The last time we tried to have a relationship, I got burned. You got back together with your ex the moment something went wrong.” An exasperated sigh left my lips as I turned toward the door. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation.” I then turned the knob and left.
The last time we kissed was when we first got together. Sure, we jumped into bed quite quickly, but the feelings were there. I was sure we were meant to be soulmates, yet fate apparently decided to tear us apart. I once caught him with his ex-girlfriend, and he told me he wanted to get back together with her. I put on a happy face and wished him well. I also tried to move on, but no matter how many men I dated and slept with, my heart never forgot him.
“Hey guys,” I greeted as I entered the bar to join my friends. “How did your date with Rob go?” Francesca asked. “We decided to break up,” I said. “I figured the relationship wasn’t going anywhere, so I nipped it in the bud.” Everyone then offered me their condolences, and I gave them a grateful smile, beyond thankful I had friends like them. I saw the Lost and Found box in the corner of the bar near the storage room. “Did I miss Lost and Found Day?” I asked, feeling even sadder. “Yeah, you did,” Tina said. “Though you wouldn’t believe what I found stuck in this book—” Jes then cut her off mid-sentence and came to grab me by the arm. “Could I talk to you in private?” He said. I could only nod as I let myself be dragged into the back room.
“Okay, what’s so bad about what Tina found stuck in a book that you had to drag me in here?” I asked when we entered the room. Jes closed the door behind him and sat down on the couch. “It’s a song I wrote,” Jes said. “About you.” He admitted. I put my hand on my chest and sat beside him, shocked that he would do something so romantic. “You wrote a song about me?” I asked. Jes nodded. “I wrote it last week,” he said. “The same day that I got a few extra large kid’s t-shirts from Old Navy.” I felt my heart swell with happiness.
“Does that mean you still have feelings for me?” I asked. Jes looked at me shyly. “Yes, Kathrine, I still have feelings for you,” he said, a light blush tinting his cheeks. Now it was my turn to blush. “Well, Jes, it’s your lucky day,” I said. “Cause I still have feelings for you.” I leaned in and kissed Jes, much like I did for our first kiss, but this will not be our last kiss. Not by a long shot.
In a hospital somewhere in a large city, an elderly woman laid on a hospital bed. Machines monitored her vitals, beeping steadily as she slept. Those that didn’t know her would probably guess she’s being treated for a disease of some kind. Those that do know her, however, would tell you this woman is living out the last moments of her natural life.
You might believe she would be surrounded by family. To let her say goodbye to the ones she loved. The sad truth is, she has no one left. Her two daughters have all grown and are leading busy, productive lives in their chosen fields. She asked them many times when they would come for a visit, but the answer was always “Maybe another time, Mom.”
Her husband wanted to be there at her bedside. Unfortunately, his job as a therapist often had him staying at the office for long periods of time. She completely understood and never resented him for it. It was his calling, and she’s proud that he’s helping people become better versions of themselves.
Letting out a weak groan, Christine turned slightly in her bed to get more comfortable. Well, as comfortable as a woman hooked up to a ton of machines can get. Suddenly, the door to her room opened. She hoped that it would be one of her daughters, but instead, a nurse walked in. “Hi, Christine,” The nurse greeted. “How are you doing?” She asked.
Christine tried to smile as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. “As fine as a dead woman can be,” she said. “Don’t say things like that!” The nurse reprimanded. “Your children would be heartbroken.” Christine scoffed. “They’re much too busy to care about me,” she said bitterly. “I’m sure they’re happy I’m dying, so they can divide up their inheritance.” The nurse sighed as she looked over her patient’s chart. Christine’s diagnosis is not looking good. If anything, she would only have a few hours to live.
Sure enough, Christine flatlined a few hours later. As she breathed her last breath, she made a promise to herself that when she sees her family again, she will give them a stern talking to. That is a timeless promise.
I find it uncomfortable to sit with,
So I drag it up the steps.
Heading to a place,
Where I can discard it.
Throwing it over the edge,
With all the strength I can muster.
Feeling a huge weight,
Being lifted off of my shoulders.
And when it returns,
I know just where to put them.
Tiffany’s Writing Desk 