english,
This side says sad endings make life more interesting, but that side says nobody deserves such an awful ending.
“Hi,” you say.
I fold a small portion of the upper corner of a page of my book, and look up to the direction of the sound of your voice. “Hi.”
You smile (and it’s still beautiful).
I smile.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whisper while I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and stare at your feet. “I didn’t think you’d ever, but I was hoping you’d come around.”
You take a few more steps towards the table I am presently occupying, and stop only when you’re directly behind the empty chair across mine. “You knew it was me?” you ask, not even bothering to hide the teasing tone in your voice.
“This is embarrassing; especially since it’s been—what—almost a year since I last heard from or saw you?” I answer as I fiddle with the pages of the book I’m currently reading. “But, I still do remember the sound of your footsteps.”
“I haven’t changed much, I guess.”
“A little.”
“Did you—do you—mind that I made—make—you wait long?” you run a hand through your hair. I almost reach out to do the same because how I’ve missed the feeling, but I stop myself, and grab my cup of hot chocolate instead.
“To be honest, yes,” I answer, and I hear you sigh.
“Are you okay?”
“Honestly?” I ask back, and you nod. “No, not really.”
“Do you want to talk about us?”
I give you my reasons. “So, uhm, yes.”
You let a few moments pass— thinking and understanding, I guess. “Do you, uhm,” your voice is quiet – the kind you use when you’re afraid and unsure of what’s to come. “Uhm, want to try again?”
“No,” I breathe out—too quickly—but now is not the time for me to care. “No, no, no,” I repeat while shaking my head in hopes you’d clearly get my message.
“So, is this it? This is the end?” I can sense you’re nervous, and I don’t know whether it makes me want to cry or smile.
“Yes, yeah,” I open my book, and start reading because I can’t make myself look at you in the eyes. “To everything you and I—we—were before this moment.”
Your footsteps are never heavy, but I can hear them despite the endless buzz of our favorite coffee shop.
“Goodbye?” I hear you ask, with your hushed voice.
“Goodbye,” I call out with certainty, slightly raising my cup of hot chocolate.
(Read from bottom to top this time.)
Literary (Submission): This Side, That Side
This side says sad endings make life more interesting, but that side says nobody deserves such an awful ending.
“Hi,” you say.
I fold a small portion of the upper corner of a page of my book, and look up to the direction of the sound of your voice. “Hi.”
You smile (and it’s still beautiful).
I smile.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whisper while I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and stare at your feet. “I didn’t think you’d ever, but I was hoping you’d come around.”
You take a few more steps towards the table I am presently occupying, and stop only when you’re directly behind the empty chair across mine. “You knew it was me?” you ask, not even bothering to hide the teasing tone in your voice.
“This is embarrassing; especially since it’s been—what—almost a year since I last heard from or saw you?” I answer as I fiddle with the pages of the book I’m currently reading. “But, I still do remember the sound of your footsteps.”
“I haven’t changed much, I guess.”
“A little.”
“Did you—do you—mind that I made—make—you wait long?” you run a hand through your hair. I almost reach out to do the same because how I’ve missed the feeling, but I stop myself, and grab my cup of hot chocolate instead.
“To be honest, yes,” I answer, and I hear you sigh.
“Are you okay?”
“Honestly?” I ask back, and you nod. “No, not really.”
“Do you want to talk about us?”
I give you my reasons. “So, uhm, yes.”
You let a few moments pass— thinking and understanding, I guess. “Do you, uhm,” your voice is quiet – the kind you use when you’re afraid and unsure of what’s to come. “Uhm, want to try again?”
“No,” I breathe out—too quickly—but now is not the time for me to care. “No, no, no,” I repeat while shaking my head in hopes you’d clearly get my message.
“So, is this it? This is the end?” I can sense you’re nervous, and I don’t know whether it makes me want to cry or smile.
“Yes, yeah,” I open my book, and start reading because I can’t make myself look at you in the eyes. “To everything you and I—we—were before this moment.”
Your footsteps are never heavy, but I can hear them despite the endless buzz of our favorite coffee shop.
“Goodbye?” I hear you ask, with your hushed voice.
“Goodbye,” I call out with certainty, slightly raising my cup of hot chocolate.
(Read from bottom to top this time.)
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