A Collection of Poems and Short Stories

Her Little White Lion

The silence that fell was suffocating. Who knew that simply his absence could change so much? She had done so much. Given so much, and he just decided to leave without a trace. Yet strangely, it didn't hurt. She had never expected him to stay and his leaving was something she considered inevitable. No, she couldn't say it didn't hurt. It did. But she had expected the pain this time. She knew that when she opened up, their time together wouldn't last. It had only been a matter of time.

But now that he was gone, she was lost. She had grown so used to talking to him everyday, awaiting his messages eagerly. But now it was over. All of it. No longer could she speak her mind and tell him about her day. No longer could she feel the smile his jokes could bring, the genuine emotions his words would bring her. She would not feel the kindness he showed, never be reminded that perhaps there was hope for the future generations.

She had forgiven the lies, forgiven the hurt. She had learned that she could forgive more than she thought she could. Even after he had betrayed her trust, she had remained. Perhaps that had been stupid. Perhaps she should have told him off and been on her way, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She enjoyed their friendship too much. She had begun to think that maybe she was feeling more than friendship, that there may have been the possible chance for something just a bit more. She had pushed it down, refusing to think on it, refusing to voice it out of fear that it would drive him away. Now it seemed that the fear had been pointless. He had left anyway. She couldn't help but wonder if she had been the reason he had left or if it was something more. Perhaps he simply thought he could no longer do anything for her and decided to move on and help someone else. He didn't know how much she needed him. His voice of reason, his knowing eyes.

He had seen past every mask she had put in place. Every mask she had gotten so used to wearing, sometimes she managed to hide the truth from her self. To him, they had been like glass. He could see everything hiding under the surface and all he had wanted was for her to tell him the truth. How could she when she couldn't even tell herself the truth? But eventually, she had. She had removed the masked and let her words flow freely. She had showed him a piece of herself she had kept hidden for so long and he had held it with gentle hands. Not once did he speak a cruel word against her, or judge he because of the truths she shared. Instead, he turned his anger, his ridicule, on himself and it had hurt her to see him hate himself in such a way. He called her strong, but she was breaking. He called himself weak, but he was carrying her.

She had fallen asleep on the warmth of his mane, encased in his kindness and warmth. When she had woken, he had been gone. She was left in the dark silence alone and without her lion. Her beautiful and wonderful little white lion.