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I wrote this last night, and to be honest I have no idea where the inspiration came from. I don't usually write short stories, but this one just came to me so I put it down on paper. It's a very unusual style for me, and I'm not quite sure if I like how I wrote it, so I would love comments or advise. I think it's probably complete (except for a title if I can come up with one), though less than a page in word.
Was the week really up already, and 51 more to go before they could meet again? Had 7 days really passed so quickly? She felt the last few minutes fleeing and wanted desperately to hold onto them, but time no more bent to her will now than it would in the days, weeks, and months of loneliness to come. Only 6 minutes left now, not enough time to express all that she felt at their parting—nor, in fact, enough words in this or any other language to say all the infinitely many things that needed to be said.
And so the minutes continued to fade in bitter silence as she tried in vain to push back the pressures of the outside world a little longer. They had done this before, left each other and gone back to what was supposed to be their real lives, but each year she found she’d left a little more of herself behind in this place of secret love and secret dreams. This had been the first time they didn’t speak of the future, of their hopes for a life together; perhaps they were too old an too sensible now to believe… Yet there had been moments when their eyes met and a spark passed between them, and it was as if they both understood without words. She thought as they lay wrapped up in peaceful silence and each other’s arms their minds might have drifted to the same cottage near a stream in the far-off woods where their children would play—a small stone cottage that did not, in fact, exist, but was as clear and real to them as the cheap motel they lay in (and perhaps more real than their separate homes in separate cities and separate worlds), from all their shared imaginings and day-dreams in years gone by.
They hadn’t spoken of the cottage, or the ever distant “someday,” but it had been in her thoughts and she hoped she wasn’t alone.
She heard a sharp intake of breath and looked to the clock on the wall, time her eternal betrayer. Only two minutes to go, and still, silence. What to say? What could possibly ease the heartbrake? I love you was for the beginning, the sweet moments, the moments of passion; not to be tainted by the death of their time together. Goodbye sounded too final; farewell too impersonal and insincere. Best to stick to the tradition, same as every time gone before.
Time now…time for the last kiss, soft and sweet, and the last caress, palm-to-cheek and light as a feather, and then the words that broke her heart time and time again, because they meant the week was over and she exiled back to her half-life, “same time next year.”
_________________
"To days to come."
"All my love to long ago.
I hope, we'll have more happy ever after
I hope, we can all live more fearlessly...
~Jas
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Looking back I think this is probably my favorite thing I've ever written. I'm still not sure about the title, but I think the right one will come to me someday.