Allow me to officially give a genre title to this style of literature. I have spent hours trying to find the perfect title that would best describe these dark Emo-esque tales of failed relationships, tainted love and closet secrets that we would rather take to the grave than to confess. I shall call it Bad Romance. Ah yes, perfect title. and with the birth of the Bad Romance Genre, I shall contribute another piece of freestyle fiction to further describe the genre. We’ll see where it goes.
I woke up one morning and my girlfriend did not.
Her body laid lifelessly next to mine in bed that night. I didn’t realize until the next morning, finding an empty prescription bottle on her nightstand. I often think just how long she had been dead there and I not know it. I remember something not feeling right when I came to bed late that night. The room was cold, dark and eerie. I guess that is what death feels like, but I didn’t know at the time, so I laid next to her, with my back facing hers, throwing my very own bed sheets over me, as she had one to herself as well. We had grown far apart, no longer connected mentally, and damn-near physically. We didn’t speak at all that day, and there was nothing worth saying. She had previously slept with another man, and there was nothing I could do about that, but cry in a lonely dark corner, and continue to call her every insulting name in the book, but I had said them all.
Adina wasn’t just another woman, but the only woman. There was just something about her that would put me in this hypnotic state, where nothing else mattered but her, Us. I could go on forever about how beautiful she was. Her eyes was the most beautiful set I have ever seen in my life. Her smile would set me in a trance.Her existence alone proved that there was true beauty in this world. Something to live for, something to forever appreciate and cherish.
Time just made things better. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if I had somehow lost her, so I did everything I could to make sure that would never happen. We would travel out of town together, on these spontaneous little late-night trips. We’d talk for hours about nothing, sometimes not sleeping at all. I’d just lay there and listen to her talk about things, it all would come out sounding poetic. I was in love, real love, for the first time and the last. I knew for sure that nothing like her comes twice in life. If this was blessing, I would never be blessed again. Continue Reading