The atmosphere outside was melancholic. No birds chirped; no wind whistled through dying leaves. Silence prevailed. Such stillness suited the girl with the braids and skinned knees.
Earlier on her brisk morning walk she had slipped. The dirt pathways slick from rain water caused the ground to loosen. Mud met skin, dampened clothes, and jagged rock pierced flesh. Blood leaked freely, causing the bleary eyed traveler to wince. Nothing ever went as it should. Not even getting your head straight.
He loved her, but wasn’t in love with her. It was a strange concept to accept. How can a person hold such affection for you, yet not need you? Not wish to claim you as their other half and home? She knew the landscape of her heart. It was riddled with cherry blossoms whispering his name. He, however, held not a flower for her. Not even a bud or a pedal.
Crying had been no good. It simply widened the gulf of despair; an earthquake of remorse and regret singed her belly with each teardrop. Something had to be done. She would forget him. She would take a walk so she could breathe in the autumn chill, and breathe out her love for him. So far, the girl’s early morning ramble left nothing but a throbbing in her bones and a sour expression upon her lips.
Passing a fiery leafed tree, the string propping up the wanderer broke. She collapsed onto the mossy ground, hands gripping nothing but dirt and dew. This season has always been the hardest, she thought.
Everything fell in the fall; everything died until spring. She supposed she had nothing to look forward to until roses bloomed. The time in-between was to be brutal, much like the pain on her shins and the scars expanding within her heart. And yet? She would go on. It was all she knew how to do.
Sighing, footing was found again. Time to return to bed and perhaps forget the world for awhile. Sure, there would be a missed voicemail later that day. His voice apologetic as usual. He’ll say something like maybe they could discuss things further? Over coffee or drinks? And BEEP there’d be the end of the message (much like the end of their relationship). Abrupt. Brief.
The girl winced as she buried herself under woolen blankets. Her knees were still tender; her eyes still damp from earlier shed tears. Whatever happened, she guessed, there’d always be another stroll to take tomorrow. She had time to figure things out. The language of love would simply have to remain as elusive as the arms of her old lover for now. Yup. No answers to be had here. Just the quiet. The slumber. The chill of a cold crisp day. And falling asleep until her heart refused to break.