That romance

Photo by Brianna Martinez on

Sometimes you are just sad. You’re melancholy sad. You don’t need to think about anything in particular or need an actual good reason. It’s that feeling when you listen to a song or when you watch a movie or when it rains. When you listen to a touching song, you have this feeling rising up in you. It feels close but it’s not sadness. It’s a melancholy feeling of you sensual soul pinching your heart. That’s why it aches but never actually hurts. That’s why holding a cup of tea while watching the rain warms your soul.

When I was a teenager, that feeling came more often. I couldn’t tell you how many essays and poems I wrote about rains. Now, I hate rains. It’s wet, windy and gloomy. But sometimes when I was in a good mood, I found those mild sadness again. And when that feeling came I tried to fully submerge in it. I would stand there watching the rain through the window. I just stood there and stared, and not think about things much. To me that feeling is the romantic side of the mind. If’s the same feeling of when you watch the waves crashing the ocean shore. You can’t help it but have those feeling in you. And remember, its’ the romance.

I read a little article recently about calling out your emotions. It’s a circle that tries to explain and name every emotions we can have as a person. I understand that it’s a good tool for mental health but in a normal daily, I really appreciate the vagueness of a feeling. That no-name feeling that suddenly washes through you sometimes and you can’t control it. It comes and pinches your heart so you know that your heart can still shake the time calls for it.


See you soon. I missed you.

Close-Up Photo of Lighted Incense Stick Near Candle

I rushed to my mailbox. It definitely looked like the mailman stopped by today. No one else mailed me anything. I purposely cleared out all my mail just so I never missed yours. My mailman knew that. He only delivered me letters and packages with handwritten addresses. So the one he dropped off must be from you. I opened the mailbox and the green envelope looked familiar. Damn it. It was my mail to you got returned-to-sender. I knew you no longer lived at that address, but I was hoping this mail got to you in time. It didn’t.

Wire transfer completed. That was the last of the payments to Madam Zuzu. She should be sending instructions on preparations to me soon. This had to be perfect. So you shouldn’t worry. I’d make sure to prepare everythins right. Double, triple checking all the things she requested.

I knew you were more of a text person than a phone call person. But I wanted to hear your voice so I called you anyway. I memorized your number by heart. I never saved it into my phone. Firstly, because I would never, as long as I lived, forgot your number. Secondly, I didn’t know what to save your number under. No word could describe what you were to me. No word deserved to be the description of you. Dialed. Beep. Beep. Beep. I can’t pick up your call right now. Please leave a message. Thankssss!

Ouch. The needle poked me. I quickly licked my finger so the blood didn’t stain my work. Whatever. I was done with the your doll anyway. Madam Zuzu said it needed to be a handmade doll. This better worked. I only had a few of your hair left and I had to stick a strand inside this doll already. So hopefully that would not be a waste. Bought some sage today. Some incense. A best quality bottle of absinthe. I told Madam Zuzu that you hated absinthe, but she said that wasn’t for you to drink.

I brought fresh flowers for you today. Sunflowers. Your favorite. When I got there, there were already some white roses. Who did this? You didn’t like roses. I threw those roases away. Nobody understood you like I did. I squatted down, tracing my finger along each letter of your name on the tombstone. Carefully, one by one. It wouldn’t be much longer darling. This time we would really be together forever.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Madam Zuzu.

Yes, I have everything you told me to bring. I will be there soon.

I kissed your tombstone one last time before I left. Darling, next time, I would kiss your lips instead of this cold stone. This stone was in no way deserving to carry your name and this dirt ground should have never held you. Madam Zuzu guaranteed that it would work. A million dollars and half of my soul was a cheap price to pay.

I couldn’t wait to see you again. I missed you.

This little story was a response to the Go Dog Go’s Cafe prompt: End a piece of prose or poetry with the phrase “I miss you” —> Their prompts were always a creative boost for me. So much fun writing the stories.