“Some things should be left unsaid.”

I watched them walked in the rain, hands clasped together, the bond secured. They displayed what genuine love was about. In a meaningful way, I was attached to them through faith.

There was no let up: tears from heaven continued falling, abundant sorrow or just a natural design of Nature. Yet, it affected human emotions, mine, unraveling certain memories that were too difficult to banish from my being.

When I reopened the notebook, she was there. The notebook itself was a reminder, a former slumbook (popular back then with teenagers, noting their personal information, likes and dislikes, etc). The old writings were all gone, written on ripped out pages that was lost long ago. The remaining blank pages were filled with newer thoughts, scribbling done when power was out, the computer’s battery low.

“Hey, there!” I heard her, the flashes appeared as if the page became a 3D monitor, showing moving pictures of years past, segments of lives that were once happy.

“I miss you,” I rued, surprised that my lips did not move.

“I am here. I will never leave you.” I heard her say, but the flashes did not exhibit such words.

“It was my fault. I am sorry.” My mind spoke though it knew the message had no recipient but an image not present.

“No, you’re not.” I heard the words but they were not hers. They were mine.

I closed the notebook; I could not breathe. The longing tried to choke me. Not fair.

The ceiling’s color faded to black; visible sunset was present elsewhere, not here. Bleaker visions intended to grab my attention. Not fair.

The wind whistled outside as if mimicking a solemn hymn for those who left and those left behind. Not fair.

Suddenly, it was bright. The electrically-powered artificial sun shone, quickly forcing darkness out the house. Everything associated with negative thoughts tried to cling on but failed: light would never permit it.

Temporarily, the flashes disappeared though I knew they would reside at the back of my head for as long as I live, visiting me once in a while when I am vulnerable during the dark moments without power.

With luck, the light would always be my ally.



4 thoughts on “Flick

  1. The wind whistled outside as if mimicking a solemn hymn for those who left and those left behind. Not fair.

    Those words are on my mind. And will remain there.
    A powerful piece. I like writing like this, it pulls and tugs tweaking at our creative side asking questions giving suggestions.

    1. That described the condition back then. I think the timing was too much of a coincidence.
      I do appreciate your inspiring explanation. I try my best to write how I feel.
      Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Your words meant a lot to me.

    1. It was part of a day of contrast, beginning with the ticklish Quaint to sad Flick.
      Thank you for the kind words. I am always glad when I arouse emotion from readers.

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