Flora Zeymer
TONES of summer enlivened the village as fruity scents danced along with the humid winds. Children giggled contagiously as they jump from haystack to haystack in the grain fields. Ladies in the clear brook carried their jars gracefully. Entirely beautiful, calming, peaceful, and all that it made me smile. I never get tired of painting this little town from this hill of tangerines. Everyone's friendly and warm but I couldn't ignore this feeling of deserted.
Abandoned. A year ago…
To my assumption, it had been there for months—the thick bandages wrapping half the small of my body. I'm still alive, and from the day I woke up, I felt everything's not the same. A creak reverberated the seasoned room as I tried to get up. Grunting and biting my lower lip the pain accentuated that I forgot to exhale the air I breathed in. I laid down again though slowly. I counted the cobwebs in the low cracked ceiling. My eyes roamed, the last ray of the setting sun softened my mood; some red-orange reflections dazzled my eyes. As I turn on my left, a letter on the wooden table opened as lazy winds entered the room I'm in. One stare at it, I knew it was written by a man, I didn't know, I just thought it would be a girl's if meticulously folded with decorations I say as I felt like I loved writing letters. It's no good, I know, that to read it because it's a letter for someone, but something compelling about it forced me to look at what's written inside. Luckily, it wasn't that far so I made my way to reach it. Should I read it? I did. As I held it close, its faint musk and spice passed into my nose and was certain that it came from a man. Surprisingly, he wrote it in a detailed way, and then I didn't know why how the letter made me feel I'm a little home and questioned myself: to whom this letter? It seemed purposefully written for me but am I home? There was like a void in me that somehow should be filled. I discovered something's missing, something or should I say someone has gone left me and it made me emotional whenever I tried closing my eyes for so long because when I do, there would be split seconds of agonizing. Yet, I struggled to remember any remnant of my past. Then as days, months, and years passed; therefore, I believed that I'm not home. What's home? Honestly different from the house I'm staying in right now although the people I met and made camaraderie were making me feel at home, I'm still looking for that home. Something warmer, and I want to feel it again. It all just began that dreary afternoon when I read his letter, and how mysterious for I could hear his voice. How manly was the baritone living in my memory?
"Dearest love of my life;
Thou hath my heart, I adore you clandestinely. I relish memorizing every detail of your felicitous face. Heavenly smile so elfin, let me love you, am expecting nothing in return. Let me love you, for eternity.
Sincerely and honestly showing you my affection.
Your King".
TrickdePat · Fantaisie
