As I spooned another bite of creamy vanilla ice cream, the collective memory of being with him brought bitterness within my mind. I raised the spoon to my lips, attempting to savor the sweetness, and noticed my hand was shaking. There was never time when I wasn’t in danger of his malicious intent, and I escaped his icy grasp of my heart in the nick of time. We were melted, just like the syrupy mess in the bowl before me.
I loved him deeper than any man I had ever known before, but the damage had been done. The sweetness quickly turned bitter.
Looking down at the bowl, I dropped the spoon into it with clank-thud. We were over. I got out of my chair and walked barefoot to the sink, where I cleansed the bowl of all residue. Then I dried it carefully and replaced it neatly in the cabinet, for another day. I turned off the kitchen light, made my way down the hallway and up the stairs up to my dark room. It felt as though I was climbing a mountain with each step, strenuous, taking my breath away. I was in pure exhaustion and the thought of just stopping, curling up on a stair and sleeping upon it almost won out over continuing the climb to the top.
I finally arrived at the comfort of entering my bed, that sacred space where one feels the world slip away. There is nothing felt except the softness of the sheets and the pillow and my mind becomes truly void of thought.
As I pulled the blankets tight under chin with the pillow cushioning my head, my mind’s eye opened again to the image of his smiling face. I shrugged off the last of my disappointment and fell asleep, alone, but at peace.
Not sure where this little scribble is going, or if it is perhaps finished in its simplicity, but here it is. Your thoughts on what I should do with it are most welcomed.