Artful Blogging

Inner Storm

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Inner Storm..

She stood in complete silence. Staring at the front door as if she will still be there. That if she knocked at the door, the person she loved would open that barrier. To the last 2 years that kept them apart. Her heart beat faster. Someone was living there, but not the one she wanted. Memories, so clear, emotions so raw, of the last time she walked away from here. With a ‘Love you, see you soon babe’. Eyes looking back, bluer than ever before, full of love yet tinged with sadness, now etched in her mind.

She knew then something was wrong. That evening of their last meeting, she almost went back. Almost. She dismissed the gnawing in the pit of her stomach. She put in down to foolish anxiety. Too much stress. Over imagination.

Then nothing. No chatty phone calls for a few days. Unanswered calls. Fear grew until it became a dizzy feeling. An inner storm brewing, which ran with dread past all the rational thought. She’s at the shops. She’s watching EastEnder’s. She’ll call back, after all she said ‘I’ll call you’.

She even considered the possibility of sneaking over unannounced. Just to check. But stopped herself and waited ’til morning.

That day was a beautiful spring Friday morning. It was good that summer had finally arrived to chase away the chill in the air. But she felt nauseous. She was numb. She was shaking. Like a child, scared of the big wide world out there.

Marching, almost running to the door to knock. No reply. A peak through the letterbox, calling her name. Silence. Emptiness. Pressure that refused to give, exhausting the air around her, pulling reality into slow motion. She took out her phone from her pocket, nearly dropping it, she shook so much.

When the Police came to bash in the front door. The floor fell away. The bottom went from her world so fast, her legs could not hold her no more. She was gone.

And now. Thoughts of her everyday. Dreams of her only once in a while, but not nearly often enough. A hope that there’s tea and fags in Heaven.

Turning away, she walks back down the stairs. Taking one last look, up at the window she always got a wave goodbye from, she whispers ‘I love you Mum, I miss you so much’. This may not be the right time, even if it is the right place. None of us can make the clock go backwards. But part of who she was will always live in the here and now. With every single step into the future.  © Caz Norton 2013           

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