I wrote a story for your birthday, but it’s not finished. It froze in my throat, like the last time I said I love you.
Today it is a monument. A dream of saving each other, and forever. I want to finish it so I can give it to you, but what is the message now?
I print the story and put it in a folder. It squats on my shelf, accusing me of incompleteness.
I should descend from my fantasy, live in the real world. But what if the story were true?
Writing begun 23-09-29 | 93 words