The Lost You
Flash fiction
Listening to the crackling wood at my lonely fireplace, I looked at our photo. You and I were holding hands and walking. Our steps, big and tall, made confident strides on the ground, and when we looked back, we saw how deep our footsteps were. Just like our love. Just like the love of the moon for the earth. Just how the earth and the moon move along in the galaxy in perfect sync, deep in perfect love. Forever faithful. Forever bonded. Forever one.
There were times when I led the path, and there were moments when you led the path. But we moved on together, never leaving the other behind. We looked ahead and strode on, the mast of our undying love flying high and high.
Wasn’t it true, our love? Wasn’t it for real? Wasn’t it more real than the sun melting on our embracing bodies every morning?
Wasn’t this love strong for you? Strong enough to blossom into an eternity?
That fateful day on the beach I felt the tug in my hands. It made me shudder. I looked back! You had stopped walking along.
“Come on, my love,” I said.
You came along, half-hearted, unwilling to move ahead. Our high-flying mast was drooping.
“Is it a thorn in your path?” I asked.
