Skip to main content

Window of another World


Time is supposed to heal isn’t it? That’s what people keep telling me. I look out of the window at the hustle and bustle of people, buses, cars, and motorcycles. Life is constantly on the go, moving, transforming, evolving, life is outside of the window. But for me life has stopped.
 It’s been two years since Eric died, my life is still empty with his clothes out of the wardrobe, his knick knacks all gone to charity and my finger now without a ring. I look outside at life’s beauty unable to touch it to exist in it, I am in a different place full of pain, grief and emptiness.

  I keep telling myself that somehow the past will go away, the memories will fade away, I keep getting told I look so well and that I look happy. But people cannot see the agony I have and the loss I hold inside me it doesn’t go away. It’s inside me the pain, prickling me like thorns from a rose bush and I like the traffic outside simply move on and on forward but inside me is the agony. I just breathe for the sake of it merely existing but not living like the life outside the window.
  Time is supposed to heal isn’t it? But for me as I look outside the window time has merely moved on for everyone else. I just exist in life and move forward as life does, but merely surviving another day for me. Sorrow is my companion for life and Eric will forever be in my heart.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Letters of the Past

The letters in his hand were crisp, clean, and pure white and had the age of youth while Sebastian's hands were wrinkled, old and worn out. He smelt the perfume of the letters which were like flowers in the room showing down onto him. He rocked slowly as he held them and whispered 'Lillian' while Beatrice didn't budge and had gone to sleep purring away in his lap.  As the light glistened in the fireplace the colours were reflecting onto the walls of the living room like colours of the rainbow as he thought of Lillian and the past. It was at university where he had met her first, he was himself lost in the corridors, with his shirt half tucked into his trousers, tie askew and hair rough and looking at the board trying to find his class. He heard her voice, 'excuse me' and turned towards her. It was her golden hair that struck him. It shone in the corridor like a gem and it was long. She looked as though she were a mermaid emerging from the sea. He could feel
Post a Comment
Read more

Miranda

OUT NOW Dione the new virtual reality system. The huge billboard poster flickered with the only advert holographic projection . The streets were dark, but the advert illuminated like a candle making it the centre of attraction as though it was the essence of existence, but for the majority it had become. ‘Wow that looks amazing, I have to get it, it’s better than the Miranda system which came out last year’. Said my brother walking with me down the street, drawn to it like a mosquito to the light. He was addicted about getting a new headset every year. He was actually putting the Miranda system on as we spoke, going to the Prehistoric age, immersing himself in another world. Everyone was wearing one, but I didn’t.   This was my world, the future, a world of virtual reality. Headsets in every home, laying on the coffee table instead of books which were no longer existing. No one read anymore. They were a way of escaping the actual reality of the wo
Post a Comment
Read more

The Evil Step Mother’s Point of View - Cinderella

 ‘I hate you, you old bag’ she screamed as she threw the bowl across the room. I had made her favourite dish soup, which I had spent ages cooking in the kitchen. Her father had told me that it was going to be hard to be accepted as her new mother, but this was much harder than I had imaged. ‘Mum we have tried, I offered to give her my new dress’ said Gemma. ‘I said that I would take her to the ball with us’ said Louisa. ‘What can we do? She calls us UGLY sisters, it’s so cruel cried Pamela.    I hugged my three daughters closely, I wanted Cinderalla to accept us as we had with her. But she hated us, calling me a ‘wicked stepmother’ and slamming doors. She would cry and portray us as ogres. With the arrival of the Prince inviting us to go to the ball, I even tried to invite her but she was spoilt and rude. ‘I don’t want to go, you old bag, GET LOST’ she shouted. ‘I will get there myself’ she stormed off as usual to her room. ‘I miss my mum, you married my father for his
Post a Comment
Read more