So May is Short story month, so guess what that means!! Actually, I started this blog a year ago after participating in StoryaDay.org, so seems fitting that I would post about it. Anyway, today I wrote a little story, or rather a piece that suggests a story.
I had written letters to you before. I didn’t know your face, what you would sound like, not even your past. I did know that you would keep to your word, that you would, against all odds, find me and make me feel wanted. And I knew that I would tell you everything.
Oh, how I have fantasized about telling you everything. How I dreamed, all the things that made me feel ashamed, my insecurities, my lessons. I even imagined you being able to read the worlds I couldn’t express. Because, to say it would be to confine the vast emotion that I felt.
You would hold my hand, squeeze it, when you felt a twinge of truth, shoot deep. I might cry, and you would wipe away my tears, with a thumb, your eyes looking into mine, your lips tight, turned down in concern, not disapproval.
Why would I imagine such a moment? Why not think about future moments where we would plant a garden together; rubbing our dirty cheeks together, kissing each other’s salty lips? Or what about a future time where we would watch a show, curled up on the bed, your hand rubbing my shoulder, while I tuck my head into your neck?
I dream of those too, my love, and they have come to pass. but when I tell you all, I will have opened myself full to you, the rarest gift I can give, and then it will be your choice. The choice that I anticipate and fear. Will you accept my sadness? Take it into you as your own, as I am willing to take in yours? Or will we have found the obstacle that you cannot face when it comes to fighting for me, when I have dreamt of fighting for you?