As someone who has experienced being the patient, I recognized the quiet dignity in these moments. Love isn't measured by what we say when life is easy—it's revealed in the sleepless nights, the gentle reassurances, and the willingness to carry someone when they can no longer carry themselves.
"I would burn the world for her. But all she needs now is me." That is the kind of love we all hope to find.
Thanks, @Monica A Leyva! I’m glad this resonates with you
Everyone gets the epic declaration of eternal devotion. But as my better half tells me, “Words are cheap. Walking the walk is where you prove it.”
And she’s right. It took time for me to learn to appreciate the difference. But I also think most want to be that person who does both. It’s just hard.
Quite some time ago, I decided to do a one-page flash fiction, just see if I could. Here it is(got offered $35 for it once):
Whose Are You?
To the crack in his windshield, she said, “Oh, I think sometimes they do...find dropped crumbs of esteem outside themselves, I mean. But they’re just little birds pecking at a trail that fades in the panic of dark aloneness – where, for proof that they are cherished even just a weensie bit – by anyone at all – they check their iPhone messages again.”
Back on their first date, he wondered what a girl like her was doing with him. Even as his phone vibrated in his pocket, she explained why she’d never again buy “one of those creepy hive portals” – a Smart Phone. Saying she loved the smell of Bondo, the low, purring shelter of her voice made it easy for him to admit he lived in this old Ford.
But today, he’d planned to propose to her, ached to, ached to live in her firelight. He had the ring in a little box in his left pocket – where he fidgeted with his phone.
Today, just like he’d planned, they sat together parked in the sun in his rusting van at Vista House. They could see hundreds of feet below them, down onto the expanse of the river’s hot, sandy shoals called Bridal Veil – heated by the summer sun and by what had happened between them there so naturally, so wonderfully, so – often.
Yet sometimes he was terrified of the accuracy of the incisions her intellect often made. Today, when she said that, knowing in his heart of hearts she was right, he didn’t dare move his right hand – to reach out for hers. Not after that. His feeling was that if he did move his hand, she’d witch him out onto the pavement where her eyes would dare him into his dream of walking beside her ever after, where he knew he’d set fire to his van, where holding hands, they’d burst with joy. It felt exactly like that.
You and I might just be "of a cloth." I think you should develop this a little more. I think a few words here and there describing their world(maybe the bare-bones-ness of it?) - bits that draw the reader into what their world is...?
Sweet, sweet story. Hopefully we all have somebody as supportive during long illnesses. Very inspirational.
As someone who has experienced being the patient, I recognized the quiet dignity in these moments. Love isn't measured by what we say when life is easy—it's revealed in the sleepless nights, the gentle reassurances, and the willingness to carry someone when they can no longer carry themselves.
"I would burn the world for her. But all she needs now is me." That is the kind of love we all hope to find.
Thanks, @Monica A Leyva! I’m glad this resonates with you
Everyone gets the epic declaration of eternal devotion. But as my better half tells me, “Words are cheap. Walking the walk is where you prove it.”
And she’s right. It took time for me to learn to appreciate the difference. But I also think most want to be that person who does both. It’s just hard.
But it’s so worth it.
Good writing transfixes the reader and makes it hard to look away. You've done that here, my friend. A very moving and riveting piece. 👍👏🙏
3rd thought. 'I can tell you are hearing what I am saying. It proves you can stand the heat of writing. It's a core ability.
That’s quite the compliment. Thanks so much!
Quite some time ago, I decided to do a one-page flash fiction, just see if I could. Here it is(got offered $35 for it once):
Whose Are You?
To the crack in his windshield, she said, “Oh, I think sometimes they do...find dropped crumbs of esteem outside themselves, I mean. But they’re just little birds pecking at a trail that fades in the panic of dark aloneness – where, for proof that they are cherished even just a weensie bit – by anyone at all – they check their iPhone messages again.”
Back on their first date, he wondered what a girl like her was doing with him. Even as his phone vibrated in his pocket, she explained why she’d never again buy “one of those creepy hive portals” – a Smart Phone. Saying she loved the smell of Bondo, the low, purring shelter of her voice made it easy for him to admit he lived in this old Ford.
But today, he’d planned to propose to her, ached to, ached to live in her firelight. He had the ring in a little box in his left pocket – where he fidgeted with his phone.
Today, just like he’d planned, they sat together parked in the sun in his rusting van at Vista House. They could see hundreds of feet below them, down onto the expanse of the river’s hot, sandy shoals called Bridal Veil – heated by the summer sun and by what had happened between them there so naturally, so wonderfully, so – often.
Yet sometimes he was terrified of the accuracy of the incisions her intellect often made. Today, when she said that, knowing in his heart of hearts she was right, he didn’t dare move his right hand – to reach out for hers. Not after that. His feeling was that if he did move his hand, she’d witch him out onto the pavement where her eyes would dare him into his dream of walking beside her ever after, where he knew he’d set fire to his van, where holding hands, they’d burst with joy. It felt exactly like that.
Instead, with his left, he checked his messages.
2nd thought. What is the basis for their relationship?
You and I might just be "of a cloth." I think you should develop this a little more. I think a few words here and there describing their world(maybe the bare-bones-ness of it?) - bits that draw the reader into what their world is...?
Thanks for the warm response! I thought about that.
I haven’t written a lot of flash fiction, but I’d udnerstaood the lack of detail was the point in something like that - or at least it was a hallmark.
I don’t know if this is fiction or true.
If this is fiction, it’s very well written. But if this is true, I wish the person speedy recovery. May God bless her!
If this is a true post my heart goes out to you