britewordworm

January 27, 2016

Word Sixty: Rejection

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I tried texting her for the umpteenth time…and I was shocked when I finally got a reply from her. One I never expected (nor wanted) to see.

We met at a picnic, just the year prior- it hadn’t even been a full year yet when I got that text.

She wanted me to respect her wish to give her space…and if and when she wanted, she would reach out to me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, which hadn’t blinked since opening the text.

And my hopes of a new best friend?

Gone.

Word Fifty-Nine: No Way Out

With one comment on my photography post, he started talking to me. I never met him- yet- but, he had managed to slip into my life, and I didn’t mind. He swore I had met him, but his initial impression must not have been all that impressive.

He somehow crept even more into my life. He had opinions, and he “cared”. He told me his opinions of others, and I listened. He was older, wiser…he obviously didn’t want me to fall like they did.

More and more, his opinions turned into facts, and became rules.

Because, afterall, he “cared”.

January 25, 2016

Word Fifty-Eight: Kick in the Head

Two months passed.

I logged into Facebook, and admittedly, I did a little digging around. I know we fought a little- we couldn’t be real life friends, so how could we be superficial Facebook friends?

I dug around more. New photos came up- your smile so large, your eyes beaming with a renewed happiness. I saw, too, something else that was new in those photos.

Two months passed, and already a new “friend”.

My heart panged, my head sore.

One and one-half year. Eighteen months. Seventy-eight weeks. Five hundred and forty seven days.

And it all meant nothing to you.

January 21, 2016

Word Fifty-Four: Tower

Pain, stabbing and forceful, filled her chest. Cold seeping into her abdominal cavity, forcing life out of her with every breath. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, hoping to stop the tears from flowing. No matter how hard she tried, each memory with him returned, replaying like she was right there in that moment. Like that moment he held her hand…or brushed her hair…or kissed her cheek, so sweet, so tenderly.

Where was he now? Who would she turn to now?

She’d made in him a refuge, a strong tower, of which he proved unworthy.

It broke her.

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