Love Letters To A Broken Heart ~ Frerard

CHAPTER ONE:

The early morning sunshine blared through my window, filling the room with a faded golden glow that didn't quite reach the landing. Jamia's side was empty, a shallow indentation the only thing remaining of her being there. She'd risen early, hoping to fit in a quiet jog around the park before the girls woke up and she'd have to go, taking them with her. It was going to be a lonely fortnight with the children gone and no Jamia to wake up next to, but I had a few friends round the block to catch up on and a few songs that needed recording, and I couldn't find the time when I had four mouths to feed at the table.

Jamia poked her head through, asked me where Lily's bag was and disappeared as quick as she came with the pink rucksack in hand, and I was left in the perpetually-heated room, alone and with nobody but myself for company. There was a clatter and bang downstairs, and Jamia shouting, and one of the girls (Cherry, probably) was crying loudly. I would have gotten up. I would have cuddled her and told her that she'd be missed, even though it was only a two-week trip and I'd be too busy to talk anyway. I would have done those things, but my limbs were aching and my body was tired. Dead tired. Like every remaining spec on energy had been removed. And it had been like this before, years ago. Many years ago. Too many to remember. I would have counted the years on my fingers, but my brain didn't feel like working and it was easier to just close my eyes and drift back into uneasy sleep.

I was woken god-knows how long after by Jamia shaking my body. 'Frank? Frank, I'm leaving now.' I could make out the faint lines of her dark fringe and wide smile, and I found it in me to lift my head enough inches to press our lips together. 'See you in two weeks babe.' I mumbled, and soon enough, everything went dark.

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The house was quiet without the girls. It was dead and lifeless. The television wasn't whirring in the background, the toys weren't scattered haphazardly across the floor, waiting for my foot to stand on them. I couldn't hear Cherry giggling across the room, or Jamia showing Lily basic chords on Grandmother's old piano. There was no sound, and I felt empty. I always felt empty, but usually the life of the party was a distraction. Now they were gone, I was left to my own devices. I tried to write. Music heals the soul, Jamia says to me, but it tears mine apart. My body is like a piece of fabric to be ripped and torn and stitched together again. I'm an amalgamation of everything you never wanted me to be. I read over the lyrics I'd jotted down and smiled weakly. It sounded good. It sounded perfect. It sounded like the best 'fuck you' I could give.

Cause, 'if we wait
It might be too late
We'll make everybody cry
We wouldn't even have to try
If we stay
We may overstay
Our alloted time
And it just wouldn't feel right'

After god-knows how long, I finally set my pen down and stumbled over to the coffee machine, feeling unusually tired and drained for someone who hadn't even been awake for an hour. By now, the sky was a pale blue and clouds were beginning to disappear into nothing. There was something unnerving about the happiness of a clear day, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the laughter of the children running round the block, or the warm breeze that was filling the house through the slightly ajar window. It was was quaint, tranquil. All that I'm not. Not that I have any reason to be unhappy. My life is perfect. I have a beautiful wife and three kids that I love, but something. Something, is missing. Like a cookie without the chunks of chocolate, or the Mona Lisa without the teasing, stoic expression.