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forgotten puddles

I've joined an online community of writers over at Studio 30 Plus {a social media site for writers over 30} and I am really enjoying it over there. It has been challenging for me to read and write and venture out with a little more courage. I like that. This week's prompt was 'if i were to do it all over again…'



she hesitates. not knowing what to expect, she reaches out her hand. it lingers. alone. he walks out the door.
the bitter rejection feels cold. a sharp pain shoots to her heart and it aches.  she retrieves her hand, slowly, deliberately, as if any sudden movement will startle and cause her to run away. 
she sits quiet. staring at the black nothingness. she feels the weight press against her as the verses, the lyrics, the words pour out from her mind and piece together a melody as melancholy and despondent as the damp scene outside her window.  the angry rain pings persistently as they slide down the glass. slowly. miserably. they are rejected. 
the same way as she. 
she adores the rain. she wants the days to stay as beautifully dreary as she. she understands its pain.  unwanted. cold. damp. gloomy.  dreary skies with gray backdrops, bored trees and quiet neighborhoods. the occasional passing car sloshing through forgotten puddles. 
her heart aches for him. for the pain that she herself inflicted.  she is torn. torn because there is no avenue for her to take with him. she can't step in and console him or run to his aid; embrace him or even erase the hurt because it was her….her very breath, her own actions, her very existence that became the weapon to pierce him over and over and over again…
'if i were to do it all over again…' she thinks. the lonely life she is all too familiar with, the destructive path she has left behind, would it really have been different?  perhaps. 
or maybe not.



...written for this week's writing prompt at studio 30 plus