Dear WHI's,

Today I wanted to share something new. I wrote this story a while ago. We had to make a memoir about a year ago in class and a few months later I wrote a new one, which you are about to read. It's pure fiction and I hope that some of you like it.

love, wedding, and couple image love, couple, and beach image

A memory of who you are

“A memory of who you are. Or maybe better to start, of who you were.

On spring days, it began. Us, we, the two of us, however you want to call it. We used to stand in the rain, like we couldn’t care that every wise person was inside. Sitting by the fireplace, until we smelled like burned wood; eating ice cream, while others thought it was too cold; visiting every place we wanted to go, because no one could stop us. The days flew, but every moment with you lasted an eternity.

I look back on these days. A lot.

Days where everything looked okay, where we looked okay. Days where worries did not exist and where fear was only a word in a dictionary .

You looked good in that white blouse you used to wear, the one that your dad hated because it was too long; and your hair that used to float in the wind, something your mom hated. Back then I thought you were a god.

I still have that one dress in my closet. The white one with lace on the back. I do not wear it anymore. I do not even think I fit in it, but even if that was not the case I could never wear it again. Not after what happened.

You always said it looked best if I had my hair loose on my shoulders, I always disagreed. Like I did with everything. But despite the fact that we disagreed and argued, we were happy.

But of course that is not the way it ended. It never is. There is not even a happy ending in the stories we write today, because all of us know that it does not end like that in real life. For a second I thought our story would be different;
For a second I thought we were different.

We were not.

Our story went downhill. Just like all the other stories. The once so sunny and cozy days turned into living nightmares. Nightmares that did not stop once you opened your eyes. But you know this of course. You must have felt it too.

You must have felt the pain.

It was the first of June. Summer had not really hit us but we enjoyed the ‘not-too-hot-but-hot’ days. It was the day. The day that is an important moment in most people their lives. It was special for us too. I had put my hair loose on my shoulder with a small braid towards the back, because that was the way you liked it and you wore that white blouse. My parents were sitting next to yours and some of our friends were nervously smiling at us from the back of the room. Vincent, at least I believe that was his name, asked us if we really loved each other and we answered.

I do.

Neither one of us could have known that time would prove us wrong, very wrong.

After that happy day we went on vacation. Just the two of us, visiting the world. We went from east to west and north to south. We wanted to plant our footsteps on every squared meter of the earth. Those days were amazing. They truly were.

But every vacation has its end. Ours came very quick. You were called by an anonymous number; the lady on the phone told you the worst news you ever got in your life: a car crash that involved your parent, they were both dead. The weeks after that went by really fast. You organized the funeral and held that beautiful speech; you found out your parents had huge debts, that you had to fix and you lost your job.

I understand those things hurt you.
I understand you must have been heartbroken.

Sometimes I wonder why neither one us saw it coming. Did we really not know, how could we not have realized?

That your once so sweet smile turned into an sad face; the nicely washed and ironed clothes turned into old, dirty ones; your bright life turned into a dark hole.

I tried to help you. I really did. Even though you never believed me anymore, even though you thought I worked against you. But at one point I had no idea how to help you anymore. You lived in your own world and would not let anyone in and refused to come out yourself. You would get these anger moments where you hated the world around you, including me. But at other times you would show that you missed your parents, you would show your emotions, you would let me in.

But as I already said, this story does not end well. It ended like a nightmare. In the end you could only be angry. At me, the world, the universe. But between these moments of anger you had moments of complete hatred towards yourself. You hated the old you, the one with nice clothes, parents who loved him, a good job and a wonderful life. But more importantly, you hated the man you became.

I was called by an anonymous number. The moment the lady started talking I knew something was wrong. In that split second I felt what you must have felt; I cried, like you cried; and I lost control, almost as bad as you did.

I was not living with you anymore at the time I heart it. I left 63 days ago. I cried for days. I had no idea what to do. I had no idea who to call. I had no idea what happened.

Now I am standing here. Saying these good and bad things about you and you are not even here to defend yourself. I am saying this to old wood with your body inside of it.

There are little words I still have to say. Little air to be used for your remembrance. I just want to say that I do remember the old you. I still love the old you and believe there was always a little part of him still in you. I want to say that I am sorry. Sorry for all the things you had to go through.

You will be missed.

Missed by me.”

I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like me to post more short stories or memoirs, let me know!

Loads of love,
Mieke