Young Writers Society

Please excuse this rather rambly and nonsensical piece of writing, but I needed to get it out of my system ^^"



I read the spaces formed in the voids between your words and wonder if you are trying to tell me something more than these simple hollow stories about your life now. We converse about small nothings - movies, weather, work. I trace your words with numb fingers. Maybe Braille. Maybe that’s how you’ve chosen to say what you really feel.

After all, it can’t be that you’ve chosen to say nothing.

It can’t be that you’ve moved on so effortlessly effervescently out of my life.

There are things I don’t say, or write. Sometimes I pretend I don’t think them, either. I don’t imagine your laughter, or your smile, or even the way your eyelids flutter when you sleep. I don’t imagine your hand on my hand, my hip, my lips, when I’m alone.

I don’t whisper the words I want to write, as I fill the page with meaningless sentiments.

I don't pretend I’m not still holding onto the memory of you.

Soon enough it won’t be a lie anymore. I’ll be able to think of you without the pain, the regret, the consuming emptiness that takes over my soul until I feel as if all the thoughts I’ve been trying to conceal will just rush out of me in one sudden burst. I’ll be able to not think of you.

I want to explain this in a way you’ll understand, but you won’t. You never did cling to things in the way I did, did you?

I see you all the time. Well, not you, of course, we both know that’s not possible anymore. But I see an imprint of you wherever I look, as if you’ve been burnt onto my irises forever. I see strangers with your hair, your smile, that ridiculous jacket that I used to say I that hated. I find myself drawn to people who behave the way you do. The way you did. I confuse myself with tenses sometimes, when it comes to you.

The other day, I thought I heard your voice on the street and stopped right there in the middle of the pavement. I had been in the middle of thinking about something else at the time; do you see how completely you’ve invaded me?

It wasn’t you, of course. It never is. Sometimes I wonder if the person replying to my letters is even you. I recognise the words but not the essence. I can’t picture you saying what you write to me. I hate to say it, but I want you to be sad, to hurt as much as I do, just to think that maybe you did really care for me. That I actually meant something.

That I still do.

Right now I’m not so sure.

But I’ll continue lying, of course. Weaving false smiles into my words and hoping you’ll know or care that something’s amiss. That you’ll notice a wistful phrase, or that you'll finally catch the hints I'm always dropping.

That you’ll say you miss me.

I miss you.


Yours,

Alex


Review?

Hi, Syn!

So, I really thought that this piece was well-written and that you did a marvelous job with it. I like that it's very simplistic yet still very compelling; even though were only connected to the narrator and the lost lover that he is writing to for a very short space, I still feel like I know them well and I can sympathize with what he is feeling when he writes the letters. You get a sense of his confusion and his frustration, and I like how you don't tell us that she is dead, but that we can gather it from the content of the letter. It might be nice if you gave her a name, though! Something to add to her character and the relationship she shared with the narrator.

I do think, however, that this could use a bit of expansion. How long has it been since your narrator lost his lover? Were they married or did they just date? Those two factors could influence the tone of the letter a lot. If they were married, did they maybe fight a lot? Were they planning on filing a divorce, only for the narrator to realize that you don't know what you have until his gone? You could portray his conflicting emotions that way in the letter, make it seem more like an apology. As for how long it has been, you should really try to clarify it because there are parts of the story that make me feel both ways. On one hand, he feels very ravaged by grief but still somewhat detached, not the way some one who had recently lost a loved one would be acting. If it happened long ago, I would talk about him bottling up his emotions, and maybe he married again but never forgot her?

I would also maybe go into a little bit more detail about some of the memories they shared. What did that ridiculous jacket look like? All of these details will add life to your story, make it seem real and that much more heartbreaking.

Hope this helps! Good luck with your revisions, and feel free to drop me a note if you have any questions.

~ Elinor

Hello there.

I don't pretend I’m not still holding onto the memory of you.

The phrasing was off in this sentence... I'm not sure how to rephrase it though. You might want to check that.

I see strangers with your hair, your smile, that ridiculous jacket that I used to say I that hated

The that is not needed.

Plot wise, it seems okay. Nothing I haven't read before, but you've got the emotions, which makes it more interesting. One thing I don't get though, is the little words you've put in the story. Do they have a point? If so, I don't see why. I would recommend you take them off, because they are distracting, and the story is just fine without them. Although, if they have a meaning and a point, then you should make that point a little bit more obvious.

Now, with what I liked. Emotions are straight to the point, which is an essential, if you ask me. The details you've put in there are also something I enjoyed.

Keep up the good work!

-Other One