Black (27 page)

It looks exactly the same, the only difference being that the grass is higher. I walk to the spot in the fence that he cut so many years back and make my way through it.

I wander to the exact spot. The one with the good and the haunted memories. I sit down, not wanting to stand. My body starts to shake, my heart taking over wishing that he was here with me.

I feel him though, I feel like his hands are on me, comforting me with all his might. Making me feel whole, fixing all those broken pieces of my shattered heart. My eyes close and I take it, I take as much as my feeling and believing will give me.

He is there, in my mind. Smiling at me. He winks and it does to me what it did all those years ago. Make me want him and then miss him even more.

Not all relationships end the way we hope. Some end in tragedy, and mine was just that. But in the end I got a miracle. A large family. One that loves me as a whole, and they are fixing all the broken in me. They just can’t repair my soul that weeps for that one and only person. And I think that’s okay, that’s okay that it can’t be fixed. I don’t want it fixed. I want that for him. I want that reminder of him, in any way I can get it.

He was it for me. He was not just a love, a love I always wanted. He was it. He was what my soul wanted, what it craved, and now it bleeds for him. And it will never ever stop.

I watch as she walks down the street, a sway in her hips, her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. Something tugs at me, I don’t know what though. Why every time I see a blonde woman, something in me changes, grabs at me. I don’t think it’s something I will understand. Ever.

She pulls my hand and brings it to her lips. Kissing it while we sit in the car, I turn to her and wonder why her eyes are the only thing I like most about her, the rest not so much. The blue shines bright, she closes them and leans back in her seat.

I remember waking up five years ago, those eyes looking down at me. Something about the color called to me, but I had no idea why. I didn’t even remember who I was, or where I was. She told me my name was Trace, and that I’d had an accident, but something seemed off. Something seemed wrong, except I didn’t question it—couldn’t, because I had no memory.

But as I look back to the street and see the blonde, walking with her hand in the hand of a small child’s, I wonder why I feel some kind of tug, like something is very wrong, and something is missing.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Black.

Book two is in the works, if you wish to be the first to know what is going on. I have a newsletter or my fan group you can join here.

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