To the one that got away,
Years ago, you stole my heart. And I am afraid—blissfully, yet torturously afraid—that you will never give it back. It is lost with you, across the waves, across the sun, the moon, the stars, lost in a world where everything is right but seems so wrong.
How did it spiral out of control? How did our love—encapsulated in the constraints of time, growing each second—fast-forward the clock, rushing to reach an unattainable destination it was not ready for? With every tick, a moment slips by. Tick. You asked for my hand. Tick. You slipped the ring onto my finger. Tick. We spent the night at home. Tick. We ate marshmallows by the firelight. Tick. You tried cutting some steak. Tick. You slipped. Tick. An accident. Tick. You're here. Tick. And then, you're not.
We were happy. We were alive. And now, I am not the former, and you are not the latter. We are two parts of a broken whole, missing the centerpiece, the part that bridges life and death. We try and we try but we cannot click. We cannot heal. We can only watch each other from both sides of the chasm, longing, wanting, but never receiving.
You cannot be gone. I refuse to believe it. In my mind's eye I see you still, asleep next to me, arms cocooning me in their strong, comforting embrace. I see you laughing with me by the firelight, sleepy and warm. I see you healthy. I see you alive.
I write to you in a fit of despair. I may not have my heart, but I have my soul. A soul so tattered and ragged beyond comparison that nothing can save it now. Except you. Please, come home. Let me heal. Let me love and live, if only once more.
In my darkest hours, I fear our love has only ever been a dream.
The one on the other side.
Day, the winner of WriterVana's May 2022 writing contest, is a fantasy and paranormal romance writer.