Short Story: What happened to all the love?

What happens when the person that you love, does not die, leave but is simply lost. What happens with the love that you shared? Where does it go? Does love find news homes in new souls, or does the love inside you change alter, mutate become something other? Does it disappear slowly over time, leaking from your pores like water, before the well finally runs dry? Or does it shift from one person to the other, a new love taking the place of where the old love was, replacing the stored memories with new ones? I can’t justify loving someone that is lost, nor can I justify not loving someone that is here, so where is it, all that love that was shared?

I can say that I love him still; his departure did not teach my heart to forget. I can say that I know what it means to love. I would say I felt regret about being heartbroken now that the object of my affection is gone but I don’t, my heart is delusional in its patience as if he will return, breathing new life into this love affair I have paused since his departure. My mind understands, it does not accept but it understands. But my heart, hopeless and illogical, stubborn in its inability to see reason is patiently waiting, a timer not set, no end date required. But time will not wait for me, and though my heart is steadfast my head knows the truth.

Though the truth is slowly fracturing my heart, I will not bring myself to remember the past with regret. I have been in love and have been loved, wholly unconditionally and without restraint. I have loved and been loved deeply without abandon, cared for so sweetly that my soul has been imprinted upon. This phenomenon is rare. I know what I had was real. Even if I was only able to taste heaven for a moment, I am a believer for life, I have been converted. Even though only I know, even though I have no discernable evidence, I believe. I have lived in that feeling for an infinite moment.

Is it enough to believe in love, even if you are no longer in it? You have seen Heaven, but now you are on earth once more, so is it enough? Is it enough to know that it exists even if you can’t have it ever again? What is the point of love if when you scour the world forever you may only be a silent witness. Or is love, akin to a treasure map, a wondrous prize we hope to find one day, never really knowing what we will do when we reach the X on the map, is love about the possibility, about the hope of it.

When I was in love, I was afraid and content. The emotions warring within me. Part of me was afraid of how much I had given of myself to another person, and how much I still wanted to give. How integral they had come to my way of life, how they had woven themselves into the fabric of my existence, my happiness a fragile ball they protected just as much if not more than I had. I was astounded and suspicious. If love felt like this why wasn’t everyone falling? I knew the answer before I had even asked the question; to be in love was to be afraid, because this person, this piece of your soul could leave, or die or break you in ways that you would never recover. It is terrifying, and the more you feel the more afraid you become, but your heart does not cease loving because of fear, and I found that John Donne was right, winter will not abate the springs increase. There is no capacity for love, it just keeps expanding and expanding, the heart forever growing, gorging on the love it keeps taking, its appetite insatiable. It can’t stop, it won’t stop and a part of you marvels at the feeling. A little slice of heaven, immortal in our love for each other.

I was content because here I had what everyone was looking for and I had found it almost accidently, without really searching. It wasn’t happiness, although there was a lot of that or sadness though there was some of that. Love to me is being perfectly content. My body at an equilibrium where it wants for absolutely nothing because it had found it in him. He wasn’t perfect and nor was I but somehow we had found peace and I was content.

Even though I lost him, my love, our love is everlasting. That love that we shared was soul deep. I can convince my mind that he is gone, my heart may never believe, but my soul? That I have no control over, that is his, there is a space inside my soul that will always be his no matter who I end up with. He will own a piece of my soul and I will own a piece of his.

Short Story: Galactic Confessionary part 5

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The eleven angels landed as one, walking forward in formation. Higher Angel Seth led the procession with, the other warrior Angels flanking him on either side. Seth felt their combined power part the very air, their quarry, the being that had been a whisper, a shadow, a liability that could not be allowed to exist, was inside the modest two-story building. After searching for years, a programme he had heard of only in passing had yielded the secrets he needed.

Higher Angel Seth glanced up at the Galactic Confessionary and had to smile. She had been hiding in more than plain sight, casting her voice on the very radio waves.

They reached the entrance and paused.

‘I will go in alone, surround the building, no one leaves,’ He thought to the others.

They all nodded.

‘Make sure the device is active so no one can teleport out.’ Then he turned and directed his thoughts only to his second in command; Warrior Angel Cassandra. ‘If I don’t come out in thirty-five minutes, get reinforcements, do not enter without another higher angel.’

She nodded once.

Satisfied he entered the building alone.

With a thought he sent every living person inside the confessionary into a deep slumber except of course the one he sought. She was seated inside the booth, her heart rate a little elevated her thoughts difficult to decipher. Seth, like all angels could read people’s thoughts, but his special ability gave him a skill above others because he could also hear the thoughts of his fellow angels whether they liked it or not, only the strongest minds could keep him out and it seemed that the half-breed was amongst that exclusive club that could keep him out.

Seth walked into the booth and sat down, hiding his wings from view.

Short Story: Galactic Confessionary part 4 ⅔

Yin and Yang

“Have you…have you come to tell your story?” She asked uncertainly, “you know what I am?”

“Yes, and I also know who you are, a woman who keeps her identity a secret even from friends, fear not, your secrets are still your own to tell, should you ever feel a need.” He paused as he heard her exhale, “shall I begin?”

“Are you sure about this?” She asked genuinely concerned.

Zachary smiled. “Yes, and even if I was not, your presence alone would compel the truth from my lips.” He felt her confusion and conscious of the fact that she had probably never met or even spoken to another angel before he elaborated. “All angels have similar abilities, healing, speed, and strength but there are a gifted few who have more, such as yourself, you can compel the truth from people with your mere presence alone. Not everyone who walks through these doors always has the intention of telling you the truth, like the Ganzarian, their keen instincts is not an ability many Ganzarian admit to.”

“I…erm, I did not know this.” She said on a shaky voice.

“Now you do,” he said softly.

Zachary cleared his throat.

“My name,” he began at a normal volume in the universal language, “I am an angel, yes, I hear some of you ask, it is me, the angel that has fallen, swiftly, steeply into love with a being that is not of my kind,” Zachary paused again, he could hear the elevated heartbeats of the six members of staff that worked at the confessionary and he wondered if he should continue.

“I did not mean to, what I mean to say is that I did not purposely fall. I felt, like all angels do, myself immune to such mortal emotions. I had several hundred charges I looked after, good mortals for the most part, it was my job. Of course I had favourites, mortals I would spend more time with, talk to even, but I reasoned that a few of them had no one else to listen to their sorrow, and it worked once unburdened it made it easier for them to make friends of their own kind. But,” Zachary paused as he smiled remembering the surprise and even discontent he had felt when he realised what had happened, “I did not realise my heart had been keeping secrets, that it had singled out one of these mortals I called my favourites and had chosen her to be the object of my very existence.”

Short Story: My Husband, his Mistress and I THE END

My Husband his Mistress and I pic

It’s been almost a month since my Husband’s weekend break with his mistress.

What he says still troubles me and I want to confront him about it, but at the same time I’m stuck. His affair is like a drug and I’m addicted. I like watching him come up with new and inventive reasons as to why he’s coming home lane. I love putting on my trench coat; yeah I went out to buy one, to follow him around. I’ve even had my car windows tinted. It’s all very cloak and dagger. I’m getting bolder with the hints I’m dropping him. I think he’s beginning to suspect I know something is going on. But I can’t stop and why should I stop when he can’t either?

“Hey my darling?” I say when my Husband walks through the door.

He gives me, what I can now recognise as a tight smile. I can’t believe I didn’t realise until he mentioned it to his mistress.

I watch him carefully as he goes over to the sink to wash his hands. He sets his briefcase on the table, takes his coat off, hangs it up on the fifth hook, checks the time then begins to wash his hands.

Something’s never change.

I follow him into the bedroom.

“What’s the matter?” He says in alarm.

I’m deviating from our usual routine; we normally have a ten minute conversation about our day before we eat dinner.

“Nothing, I’ve just missed you that’s all.” I say honestly.

“Vivian we can talk at the dinner table.” He says.

I sigh and walk to the door. I hesitate as I watch him meticulously fold the clothes he is taking off.

“You don’t like it when I say darling do you?” I say, unable to keep quiet about it any longer.

I see the alarm flash across his features before he is able to cover it up.

“Wha-what makes you say that?” He stammers.

I chuckle internally before I walk back into the room.

“But you don’t do you?” I press.

Marcus shakes his head very slowly an intense look on his.

“Then I’ll stop saying it. I’m also going to stop attending those pretensions lunches that the partners at your law firms wives like to throw, I’ll only go to the big events to help you.” I add, whiles I’m on a roll I might as well get it all out in the open.

Marcus is staring at me open mouthed.

“Thank you Vivian,” he says after a long moment.

“I just wanted to get that out there,” I say with a shrug before walking back to the kitchen.

I’m in the kitchen mulling over my victory when Marcus comes in.

‘O no!’ I feel myself panicking at the look on his face.

“I love you Vivian,” he says staring at me.

I relax.

“I love you too.”

“I didn’t realise you found the lunches so boring,”

“I would do anything for you.” I say firmly. “Even say darling, despite how much I hate that word.” I force a laugh trying to make light of the situation.

I can feel him starting to crack.

“Why didn’t you say anything Vivian?” He paces around the room in agitation, “all this time I thought, but…” He trails off.

‘O God O no,’ I think frantically, I’ve pushed him too far, I thought the sly hints I was always dropping would do it, but my honesty finally brought out his lie.