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:iconsoimstillunsure: More from SoImStillUnsure


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Poetry by Taken-love17

Literature. by Concrete-Love

Poetry Prose by wakemeup60


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Submitted on
July 17, 2010
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"Morning, my love." My voice is lilting, and floats on the spring-scented breeze, as I bustle around the kitchen, not bothering to turn, as you take your place at the table.

The curtains, thrown wide to welcome the rising sun, are quivering in the gentle wind, and I glance outside, "It's warming up already, this afternoon's sure to be beautiful. Do you think we could go out and start the garden, later? It's a little early in the season, but it's bound to be a lovely day." I ask you, eyes smiling as I take in the dew-speckled grass, glittering in the early sun just beyond the window pane.

I nod to myself, "Yes, yes. I bought the seeds a week or so, ago. Evie had a sale on at her shop, you know. I got all your favorites, dear. Snapdragons, Sweet Peas, Impatiens and Schizanthus. It'll be just beautiful."

I pull my gaze from the window, and saunter over to the coffeemaker, mood lifted by the weather, and prospect of spending the day outdoors, enjoying it. As the coffee heats, I pull our two mugs from the cupboard, and examine yours. It's the white china one, with the sparrows painted in blue. The only piece remaining from the set your mother gave us for our twentieth anniversary. There's the small chip in the rim, which you always have to turn away from your mouth before you take a sip. "Don't you think we should get rid of this old thing? It's not even a set anymore." I ponder, half to you, half to myself. There's a slight laugh in my voice, both of us know that you'd never throw it away, "Yes, it is your favorite, you should keep it. So long as your coffee's not dripping out the bottom, I suppose."

I slide the pot from the element, the deep brown liquid finally brought to a simmer. "Two sugars, one cream?"

I don't even need your answer. "Yes, dear." It's always the same. Has been for the fifty-two years we've been married.

I smile to myself, spoon on the side of your mug making a tinkling musical sound, as the cream stains the dark coffee a light beige. One of our warm mugs in each of my hands, I turn to you, smile growing as I walk to my chair, opposite yours. "Drink up, dear. The morning's just begun." I say, placing your coffee in front of you, and palm smoothing the wrinkles in my floral skirt as I take my seat.

I let the hot liquid warm my mouth, the now sweetened concoction coating my throat, as I quickly down my coffee. With a sigh, I stand from my chair, and place my cup on the counter by the sink. My fingers play along the tips of the pens, assorted colors jammed into one cup, placed on the window sill, "Which color shall I use today, George?" My fingers land on the red permanent marker. The one I always use, and I pluck it out, "Good choice."

My lips turn up in a sad smile when I glance in your direction, and notice your coffee is untouched. It's a wistful look, and I urge my eye not to mist up as I whisper about what a pity it is that we can no longer greet the morning together. It wasn't always this way. Your figure, sitting tall with that boyish grin on your face used to fill that spot, but all I see when I look over to your chair, now, is the empty wall behind it. Your coffee, like every other morning I go through this, will sit at the table, as if someone would be arriving to drink it at any moment. It will congeal, cream gathering on the top, until I finally dump it out around lunch time. Maybe, then you will join me in the garden, screen door opening, and you shielding your eyes against the sun. You'll sit down in the lawn chair, watching me tend the weeds, and I'll ask you where to put the snapdragons, and if you're enjoying the weather.

I turn, now, to the calendar on the wall beside the window, the one facing the garden, soon to be alive with color. With a flourish of my hand, I mark another garish red X. June 28th. I don't need to count, I've already memorized the number of days in my head. Today is the 1187th day that I've spent without you. "Take your time finishing that, dear." I nod in your direction, as I grab the flower seeds from the window sill and turn towards the door. Maybe I'll cut the Schizanthus and bring them to your grave once they bloom, the purple ones were always your favorite.
Inspiration taken from by ~MaRaDinn

Not really how I got this story from that picture, maybe it was just the title. Still, her gallery is gorgeous, and one that definitely deserves a look. =)

Hmm...I suppose the idea isn't very original, and you'll all probably guess what's going on by the 3rd, if not 2nd, paragraph. Hope you can still all enjoy it. :heart:
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:iconsilvercanis:
SilverCanis Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2010  Student Traditional Artist
This was beautiful and made me a little teary. A loving, dynamic marriage is so beautiful, but when someone's gone, it probably hurts a little more.

You caught the sadness perfectly; I love it.
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:iconsoimstillunsure:
SoImStillUnsure Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
:thanks: Thank you so much for the kind comment. I'm glad you enjoyed it. =)
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:iconsilvercanis:
SilverCanis Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2010  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome. ^^
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:iconartandattitude:
artandattitude Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2010  Student Photographer
This is great!
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:iconsoimstillunsure:
SoImStillUnsure Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you very much. :thanks:
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:iconhumdeedum233:
Humdeedum233 Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2010
So..... sad. It's like hugging a frame of a person that died, no hugs back, no warm body, only a memory... which is like a series of faded pictures that too will die.
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:iconsoimstillunsure:
SoImStillUnsure Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
:aww: :hug: Sorry!
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:iconhumdeedum233:
Humdeedum233 Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2010
Sorry? For what? In this apathetic word people need to remember what it's like to really feel for another. Your stories make a person more human, the type created to care for each other.
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:iconsoimstillunsure:
SoImStillUnsure Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
:aww: I know...it was just a sad visual you depicted.
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:icongrimface242:
GrimFace242 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2010   Writer
you caught me off guard...i didn't expect that the husband wasn't really there...the first few paragraphs led me to believe he was...but looking back after reading the whole thing through, i can't believe i missed it...

i'm a twisted person, so i love twists like this...

you've painted a perfect picture in my head...i can just imagine this little old lady moving around her kitchen like my grandmother used to.....it's a perfect mental picture...

and the red marker....perfect...the color can symbolize so many things...you built up the emotions before bringing the calendar into the fic and showing just how long she's been doing this....

referencing back to the schizanthus from the earlier "conversation" was great at the end...i like when an author pulls everything together, even in something so short....

unlike some of the other reviewers, i don't see this as a sad story...not at all....it's a love story....even after 1187 days, she's still in love with her husband...that's awesome!!

so, great job!! definitely glad i took the time to read through this one!

-Reaper

:iconthe-writers-review:
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