Categories > Original > Drama > Goodbyes Are Never Good.
Years later he called her. She answered. Hearing her voice nearly made him hang up the phone; he still loved her, and it only brought him pain. All the memories he locked away came flooding back. What it felt like to be happy. How he'll never be happy again.
"Congratulations," was her first word as she answered the phone.
"It's been three years," he mumbled, attempting to sound more dead than he currently felt. He was unsure if he succedded.
"And in three years you made a name for yourself. I read the book. Best seller, I hear. Living the life!" Her voice was cheerful. He did not understand it.
"And you made a name for youself, too, haven't you? An entire charity started purely because of you," he was about to admit he donates daily but bit it off. He needed to stay mostly emotionless.
She was smiling that smile that always drove him crazy. He could not see her over the phone, though, so the impact was lost. "A charity isn't started by one person. I have everyone who ever donated to thank. One day, the world will be a better place."
"Where are you?" He blurted out, sounding hopeful, yet desperate. He cursed himself.
"Closer than you think," she said sweetly.
How could she be so calm? he kept wondering to himself. There must be someone else.
"I want to see you. Please," he said, unable to hold himself back. "Don't bring your boyfriend, or your husband, or whatever. . ." He trailed off, trying to get himself under control.
"There's no one else," she said softly. "There hasn't been. I love you. There's only one you."
"There's only one me, but there are plenty better," he said. He needed to stop. He felt his carefully crafted wall start to break. He was going to hurt all over again.
"Shut up," she told him, in her playful yet serious tone only she seemed to be the master of. "No one better."
"I want to see you," he repeated.
"One day soon. You may not recognize me," she told him.
"Not recognize the girl I love?" Impossible."
"I don't want you to recognize me. Don't take it the wrong way. I just would have to leave, and it would be difficult for both of us," she left out that she would be too selfish to leave him this time. She couldn't do it again.
"I'll keep my eyes open," he mumbled.
"I have to cut this short," she told him. "It was nice to hear your voice again. Remember. Two left."
"Goodbye," he said. "I love you," his voice broke.
"I love you, too."
They both cried themselves to sleep that night. If he would have been told that she cried over him, he would not have believed it. But, regardless, it was true. They cried themselves to sleep over a fairy tale gone wrong. In the real world, they never go right.
In his dream, he was happy, or what he believed happiness felt like. It was awhile since he felt that emotion. Sure, he was doing what he loved - and damn good at it, as it turned out - but he was not with who he loved. He was a quick learn, however, and soon adapted his own celebrity-style facade. Always smile, always appear happy. You're doing what you love, act like it! In his dream, he was with her, and they were happy, together. The short About The Author at the back of his books read: "married with two wonderful children" instead of "alone and searching" when, in truth, he was not searching. he had found, and he had lost. Game over. You can't restart life.
Her sleep was deep, deep enough to dream and not remember afterwords. She had two bouncing children and Him, that fantastic author who she knew donated daily to her charity to improve conditions in Africa. Only, in the dream, there was no charity started by her, and the heart-wrenching story of losing what's closest to you - which she was sure helped people through something, sure of it - was never written, because the author never lost what was closest to him: her.
"Congratulations," was her first word as she answered the phone.
"It's been three years," he mumbled, attempting to sound more dead than he currently felt. He was unsure if he succedded.
"And in three years you made a name for yourself. I read the book. Best seller, I hear. Living the life!" Her voice was cheerful. He did not understand it.
"And you made a name for youself, too, haven't you? An entire charity started purely because of you," he was about to admit he donates daily but bit it off. He needed to stay mostly emotionless.
She was smiling that smile that always drove him crazy. He could not see her over the phone, though, so the impact was lost. "A charity isn't started by one person. I have everyone who ever donated to thank. One day, the world will be a better place."
"Where are you?" He blurted out, sounding hopeful, yet desperate. He cursed himself.
"Closer than you think," she said sweetly.
How could she be so calm? he kept wondering to himself. There must be someone else.
"I want to see you. Please," he said, unable to hold himself back. "Don't bring your boyfriend, or your husband, or whatever. . ." He trailed off, trying to get himself under control.
"There's no one else," she said softly. "There hasn't been. I love you. There's only one you."
"There's only one me, but there are plenty better," he said. He needed to stop. He felt his carefully crafted wall start to break. He was going to hurt all over again.
"Shut up," she told him, in her playful yet serious tone only she seemed to be the master of. "No one better."
"I want to see you," he repeated.
"One day soon. You may not recognize me," she told him.
"Not recognize the girl I love?" Impossible."
"I don't want you to recognize me. Don't take it the wrong way. I just would have to leave, and it would be difficult for both of us," she left out that she would be too selfish to leave him this time. She couldn't do it again.
"I'll keep my eyes open," he mumbled.
"I have to cut this short," she told him. "It was nice to hear your voice again. Remember. Two left."
"Goodbye," he said. "I love you," his voice broke.
"I love you, too."
They both cried themselves to sleep that night. If he would have been told that she cried over him, he would not have believed it. But, regardless, it was true. They cried themselves to sleep over a fairy tale gone wrong. In the real world, they never go right.
In his dream, he was happy, or what he believed happiness felt like. It was awhile since he felt that emotion. Sure, he was doing what he loved - and damn good at it, as it turned out - but he was not with who he loved. He was a quick learn, however, and soon adapted his own celebrity-style facade. Always smile, always appear happy. You're doing what you love, act like it! In his dream, he was with her, and they were happy, together. The short About The Author at the back of his books read: "married with two wonderful children" instead of "alone and searching" when, in truth, he was not searching. he had found, and he had lost. Game over. You can't restart life.
Her sleep was deep, deep enough to dream and not remember afterwords. She had two bouncing children and Him, that fantastic author who she knew donated daily to her charity to improve conditions in Africa. Only, in the dream, there was no charity started by her, and the heart-wrenching story of losing what's closest to you - which she was sure helped people through something, sure of it - was never written, because the author never lost what was closest to him: her.
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