1...2...6...13...37...
51...77...84...
95...97...
99.
99 pieces of paper all around the room. 99 pieces of poetry. 99 pieces of letters.
She remembered almost having finished. Just one more and she was off to have it made into a book. Now, here she was: picking up the pages of her hard work off the floor after discarding them.
One by one, she picked up a paper from its spot around the room and smoothed it out on her desk. Then, she folded it neatly into a box, and stood to get another.
She continued this until all of them had been collected and set aside. Soon, the room didn't look as messy as it initially was.
With the raindrops slowly receding into a drizzle, her actions ceased as she had finally finished, and now, she was doing nothing but staring at the small box that was in front of her.
YOU ARE READING
Heartbreak For One
Short StoryOh, what greater pain is there than to love someone and get heartbroken over them... Despite them never knowing. A short story of grief. One from personal events.
