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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1487421-Initials
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Personal · #1487421
An old man returns to the tree where he once carved his sweetheart's initials...
The initials seemed so ancient, so obscure and lost without meaning or cause. There he stood, staring, watching, remembering. The day he carved them seemed so close, so clear to him, as if it were just yesterday he stood underneath the glory of the hot, summer sun with a dull knife leaving his story on an old willow. The sun was at its highest point in the clear blue sky that day, but the chilly breeze was a subtle reminder that it was still the dawn of spring, and that the dandelions and sunflowers were still blooming in the fresh cut grass and the trees still growing in the ground, growing deeper and deeper into the earth. He remembered just how beautiful she looked that day, sitting down on the grass, her back against the trunk of the tree, running her fingers through the wet dew of the grass and allowing all the flies and little insects to journey up and down her arm. He remembered sitting on swingsets, and lying down on velvet sheets of grass, tucked in by the harmonious calls of birds that would skip across the river. He remembered when she would close her eyes from time to time, not because she was tired or weary from a day out in the heat of the sun, but so she could appreciate the sounds of nature, listening to the buzzing of the busy insects, the calls of the blue jays and sparrows, the wind blowing slightly against the leaves of the trees. She was the one who taught him life’s most valuable lessons, that in order to find yourself, you must lose yourself. She taught him that everything in life is a choice, and everything else is a consequence.

He remembered the look on her face the moment he told her she could open her eyes so he could reveal the surprise. To the eyes of a stranger, it merely showed four letters side by side, separated by little dots in the center of a poorly carved heart on the side of an old willow. But to them, it represented so much more. It represented the nights of sneaking out at three in the morning, giggling at the screen door that always seemed to creak too loud. It represented the days running to the playground as fast as they could so they could lose their breath just to have an excuse to lay next to each other on the cold, wet pavement and gaze up at the stars. It represented the laughs they shared together, the tears they shed together, the friends they gained and lost together. It represented a bond, an everlasting pact. That no matter what happened, this love, this friendship built on trust, respect, and passion would never die. It was an eternal flame forever lit in the tallest mountains, in the ether of this lonely universe, always alive, never forgetting the strength of this love, of this friendship. And now, it was all gone. And there was no remorse, no regret, even as he walked up to his car and drove away, not daring to ever look back.

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