No Longer

Finally, she realized, it was time to call a spade, a spade. No more excuses, no more dashed hopes, no more infatuated dreaming. Just reality, cold as iced water, hard as the realization of the foolishness that dragged on for years.

It surprised her that she wasn't angry, just sad, and regretful that it took her so long to realize, that this wasn't a game she could win.

"Hay, Anne..." she had said, her voice trailing off, a quiver betraying the emotions she tried to keep hidden. She had wanted to cry, but must have realized it wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it.

His inaction then and now, spoke nothing but the painful truth: the not-quites, the could have beens, the what-ifs -- were nothing more than not-at-alls.

Non era neppure un amico.

posted under |

1 comments:

Olive Joy said...

The coldness of the post-mortem recollections are what we most dread.

Congratulations.

Newer Post Older Post Home
There was an error in this gadget
Why AnneThology?

Anthology means a collection of poems, short stories, plays, songs, or excerpts. My name is Anne, and this blog contains a collection of my thoughts, musings and writings (poems, short stories), some songs I like, plus a sprinkling of excerpts I find worth sharing --hence, AnneThology.

Did you know?

Anthology derives from the Greek word ἀνθολογία (anthologia; literally “flower-gathering”) for garland — or bouquet of flowers — which was the title of the earliest surviving anthology, assembled by Meleager of Gadara.

Look, what I have -- these are all for you.