THIS WAS WRITTEN IN JULY 2023.

CHAPTER ONE

We look back on life with a sense of nostalgia… almost like we didn’t expect it to end. However, we know, we ALL know that our lives are not promised, and that death is inevitable. We know that everything is bound to end, even if we don’t consciously realise it. We take photographs to capture memories we know will soon pass and we have regrets about things we wish we could’ve done in the past. How can we ascertain the feeling of regret when we know that every minute that passes will soon be behind us. What are we so scared of? Or better yet, if we know deaths inevitability, why do we care so much about our lives? Now that I am here, I can see how much pain and suffering there is that world. Perhaps I knew it before, I mean, it was the pain and suffering that led me here in the first place, but at least then I had love… now I have nothing. 

THIS IS A STORY OF LOVE, LIFE AND DEATH. MY LOVE STILL REMAINS, BUT ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO FORGET ABOUT MY EXISITENCE, IN HOPES TO RELEIVE YOU FROM YOUR PAIN. AS SHAKESPEARE ONCE SAID:

“BUT LET YOUR LOVE EVEN WITH MY LIFE DECAY.”

I often do sit here to ponder, on my tanned leather reading chair in which the cushioned based has perfectly moulded to the shape of my body, almost to the point of being worn. I place my coffee on the side table, directly on the ring left by my previous cup… and the earlier four. Today I decided to open a book. Fitzgerald’s ‘Tender is the Night’ had been sat next to my chair, unfinished, for almost a year now. I had started it a while back but only got through a couple of chapters before I got distracted with other things, as I typically do. I have been continuously rereading Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre’ for the past few months now. I like it because it reminds me of her. In my head, she is Jane and Jane is her, they are one in the same. She is dignified, passionate and patient, and it is because of this, she is the woman I adore with all my heart. I still remember when I first met her, it’s a day I never want to forget. I was having one of my bad days and had decided to go to the local bar in efforts to drown out the insufferable thoughts clouding my brain. The bar was empty upon my entry, I suppose that’s what’s anticipated at 11am on a Wednesday. Nonetheless I entered at my own discretion and sat at the bar on one of the black, wobbly barstools that hadn’t been replaced in the 20 years I had lived in this town. I had yet to see someone behind the bar despite the door having rung and notified the employees of my presence upon entrance. Rather than acting as an inconvenience by calling out to the bartenders, I said nothing and rested my head on my crossed arms that were leant upon the countertop. I remained in this position for some time until a middle-aged man I had never seen before appeared from behind the bar. “Bit early to be feeling like that,” he said, after seeing me with my head down on the countertop. I grunted… there was no point trying to utter a response. The man didn’t say a word and instead poured me a beer and hit it down next to my head. I slowly raised my head to look up at the man, my eyes expressed a sincere thank you. He shrugged. “You look like you need more than a drink buddy”.

“Can I get anything for you dear,” he calls out with his eyes directed to the back corner of the bar. I spun my head around, confused as to when someone else came in. She was sat, in the back booth of the bar, crossed legged, and wearing baggy blue jeans and a tight red sweater, perfectly hugging her body – her eyes stuck in a book. I stared at her in awe. She looked up to the bartender and requested a water, in a fine British accent. She continued reading her book until a few moments later, after I could finally pull my eyes away from her, she said, “didn’t you mother ever tell you it was rude to stare.” I searched around the bar ensuring she wasn’t talking to anyone else, and sure enough, her and I were the only ones there. I slowly spun around on the chair to look at her, her eyes hadn’t left the pages of her book. I let out a small, quiet chuckle, unsure what else I could possibly say to this beautiful woman. As I went to spin back around, she looked up from her book and said, “it’s also rude to ignore someone when they ask you a question.” I turned back around; we made eye contact. My heart stopped for a minute. Her eyes looked into my soul; it’s like I was being pulled towards her. I managed to get a few words out. “Sorry”, I said.

“Was just trying to figure out what book you were reading,” I said in efforts to cover my tracks.

“Bronte”, she said. “Jane Eyre”

I turned back around nodding my head in approval, but didn’t say another word, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what else to say. 

“Have you read it?” she asked.

“No, no I haven’t,” I said, without turning around.

I heard her move from out of the booth, and I thought she may be leaving, but instead, I saw her moving towards me in my peripheral vision. She pulled out the barstool next to me and took a seat. I still didn’t look. 

“Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you,” she said. I looked up at her, confused. She was reading.

“Especially when you are as near me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib where my heart is, tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go, with all that distance between us, I am afraid that this cord will be snapped, and I shall bleed inwardly.”

She looked up from the book. I was staring at her blush pink lips speaking so beautifully, wishing for her to never stop talking. 

“Imagine if love like that existed,” she said. “If two souls, two hearts, could be so tied to each other.”

I looked at her. “I think they can,” I said.

Little did she know, I felt that pull with her. I wonder if she felt it too.